Solitude
by Umeko
Summary: Monologues by the characters at their most alone. Their silent fears, conflicts and dreams. Not in chronological order. Rated for potential dark and mature themes.
1. Leon

Disclaimer: Trinity Blood and its characters do not belong to me. This fanfic consists of monologues by the characters at their most alone. Not in chronological order. May contain spoilers for the anime. Rated for potential dark and mature themes. Rating may up.

Minor typos corrected.

* * *

**Leon: Tears of the Lion**

_How many miles to Babylon?_

_Three score miles and ten._

_Can I get there by candlelight?_

_Yes and back again._

_If your horse be swift and your spurs be bright_

_You may travel the world by candlelight_

I don't want to travel the world, just to St Michael's on the other side of Rome. If I can, I would go back to when I used to read you nursery rhymes in our cottage on the outskirts of lovely Barcelona. Back to before I went so wrong, back to before my crimes. Sorry, my little one, Papa's failed you in this. Do they read you Mother Goose in St Michael's? Or do they just read you Bible stories and the deeds of long gone saints? I don't know when I will be able to see your face again, my little angel. In thirty, twenty years? In ten years? I fear I have lost count of the years I have left in this hellhole.

Heh, I got slapped with a couple of years extra for that little ruckus in the yard some time back. New punk with an attitude that needed a little straightening out, and I did that for him. It is a rough life in here. Survival of the fittest, you might say. Only the toughest can make it out of here in one piece. The rest leave in body bags or strait jackets. Long imprisonment does weird things to some folks.

My last roomie tried to hang himself in the dead of the night. Thankfully, he trod on my toes while doing so. I wrestled him to the ground and yelled for the guards. Poor chap got shipped into an asylum. Apart from suicide being a mortal sin and that, waking up to some things can be very damaging to your health. If you fall, there is no way you are gonna get back up. They call me the Lion in here. I talk the talk, walk the walk and sure as hell make sure the other inmates know I am not one they can bully. Oh yes, the guards hate my guts, just because I can't stomach them picking on some of the other guys in here.

Tonight I am in solitary again with only a thin blanket and a night-soil bucket, little incident in the mess hall not worth mentioning, which is just as well. My new roomie snores like a bulldozer. At least I can do my prayers and sleeping in peace here. On such nights I think of you, my precious angel and the treasured memories we share.

On your sixth birthday she bought you a lovely red skirt. You wore it to the picnic. I bought you a tambourine. The sun was shining that lovely day. The sunflowers were blooming in the fields. The birds were singing. We ate and drank in the meadow and you danced like a little gypsy girl. Do you still dance like the gypsies do? The Cardinal has reassured me that the sisters at St Michael's will be kind to you. The Cardinal has reassured me that the orphanage is one of the best in Rome and that you will be fed, clothed, sheltered and educated. I hope they aren't too strict with my little angel.

Do they allow you to sing and dance like you used to?

Are you well? Are you happy? Are your blankets warm enough to keep out the chill? The night is cold enough to make me shiver.

I wish I could hold your hand in mine, to gaze at your sleeping face again. I take the locket out of my shirt and snap it open. Your face smiles at me from a picture of you on your sixth birthday. How long ago has that been? Every night, I pray that the Good Lord will allow us to be reunited soon. It will never be soon enough. Tears come again, sneaking up on me. I let them come. No one will see them tonight.

You see, in here, lions cannot cry.

Do you still recall the fairytales I read to you at bedtime? Those old stories of fairies, princesses and magic? Of little girls in red hoods and magical geese with golden eggs?

"Papa, please read me another," you used to say whenever I closed the story book. You loved to hear about fairy godmothers and pirates, magic lamps and flying carpets. You cried when I read you Anderson's Little Mermaid, how the mermaid became sea foam. So I lied and retold the tale with the mermaid marrying her prince and living happily ever after.

Will you still recall Papa as the years slip by? How we used to walk in the sunflowers fields under the azure summer sky? I carried you on my shoulders then and showed you a robin's nest in the trees. We went to the riverside and you fed the swans…

What do they tell you about me? Are the other children unkind to you? Do they tease you for having a Papa who is in prison? If they are, Papa would spank them. Papa will always protect his little angel.

Heh, who am I kidding? This Lion is safely locked away in his cage, doing penance for his many sins.

Maybe you will be ashamed of having a father like me. I will understand if you do not want to see me again. I am not exactly a Papa one can be proud of. One more time, Lord. Just one more time, even if it is from a distance, I want to see my angel's smile.

Does anyone recall your birthday in St Michael's? Will you have grown into a woman before I see you again? The days slip by and I fear I will never see you again. My eyelids start to droop. Where are my rosary beads? I must finish my prayers. _Father in Heaven, hallowed be thy name… Thy kingdom come, thy will be done on Earth as it is in Heaven… Forgive us our sins_… Oh Lord, forgive me my sins….

* * *

"_Papa, look at me! Look at me dance!"_

It was only a dream, an illusion. I was dreaming again of the day of the picnic so long ago. You ran on ahead into the flowers, your skirt flying in the breeze. Your laughter was like music to my ears.

Yellow sunflowers, sweet green grass, the brilliant blue of the summer sky and the bright red of your skirt… it all seemed so real to me. You danced on the meadow green with your new tambourine, until your mother called you. You ate two slices of the apple pie she baked and you were so fond of… We were so happy. The tears threaten to come again.

"Number 6458, you have a visitor!"

Damn! The guard! Is it morning already? I can't tell in this dark cell with the artificial light from the corridor outside. I scramble to wipe away any lingering tear streaks on my face. When Bruno opens that cell door, he will see Leon Gracia de Astriaus who has had a good night's sleep and raring to cause more trouble for him and his crew. I stretch languidly just as the door clanged open. Don't you just hate it when they reduce you to a mere number?

"Gee, I wonder who on earth could it be?" I yawn and scratch my back in mock disinterest. "Excuse me, nature calls." I take my time pissing in the bucket. Bruno the Bulldog taps his foot in annoyance. "Look here, 6458, we haven't all day. Don't keep the priest waiting." Again he does it. I have a name, and it is not 6458.

"A priest? Again? Ah, I am done." More mock disinterest for Bruno. A muscle twitches in his jaw.

"I sure hope this time he is here to give you the Last Rites before we swing you from the gallows," Bruno growls. "Get moving! After the priest, you can join your mates for breakfast, if there is any left."

"Cool it, man. You sound like your wife ran away," I chuckle and earn myself a sharp rap across the shoulder from his truncheon. That might leave a bruise. Bruno, you will pay for that, later. I let them cuff my wrists.

Guards escort me down the corridor. I catch a glimpse of the brilliant blue sky through a small window set high up in the wall. The priest is waiting. I sit down across from him. His white hair is tied back, glinting slightly in the weak sunlight from the window. His eyes, as blue as a Spanish summer sky, gaze through his glasses. Abel. With a long face like his, no wonder Bruno thinks he has been sent to give me the Last Rites.

Of course I knew who has sent him. Cardinal Sforza. Another mission, another step closer to my precious angel, another step closer to your smile.

_So how many years more, Lord?

* * *

_

**Author's Notes:**

I picked Leon for this because he appeared to be in prison. In the novel, he was imprisoned for mass murder or something. However, he struck a deal with AX that allowed him to reduce his sentence for every mission he carries out for AX. There were also hints that he has a child somewhere.

_How Many Miles to Babylon_ is a nursery rhyme I used to be very fond of as a child. Also threw in part of the Lord's Prayer, since Leon is Catholic (?). Random references to fairy tales and Anderson. .

Have I got Leon's character OOC? Please read and review.


	2. Hugue

Disclaimer: Trinity Blood and its characters do not belong to me. This fanfic consists of monologues by the characters at their most alone. Not in chronological order. May contain spoilers for the anime. Rated for potential dark and mature themes.

As my reviewers have noted (thanks for reviewing), many of the characters are underdeveloped in the anime. I will probably be focusing on the not-so-developed characters. The next one is Hugue

* * *

**Hugue: Silent Crossbearer**

A dyke runs on the left of the country road. In the distance, a line of windmills spin merrily. Somewhere in the wheat fields, farmers are singing as they toil. A boy's laughter echoes as he runs after a energetic sheepdog. The child tackles his pet and they tumble in the shadow of the dyke. An older child drives a gaggle of geese to water. A carter trundles by whistling a jaunty tune. Occasionally, he breaks out into song. Once upon a time, I may have stopped and smiled at all this. Now, I simply trudge on.

Finally, I come to a town. This is a nameless little Dutch town, much like the many towns I have passed through since I started on this road. Has it been ten years already? I stop at a fountain for a rest. Dipping my hands into the cool water, I splash my face lightly. The water is sweet on my parched lips. I allow my hood to fall back. A cool breeze pulls at stray wisps of hair. I hear voices singing a familiar hymn. I lift my eyes to see a church across the square.

Against my better judgement, I enter the church. I do not stop at the holy water font to cross myself. Instead, I sit at the last pew in the shadows. There is no Mass at this hour. The choir is in practice, their voices blending in a melodious hymn of thanksgiving. Deep baritones, tenors and youthful sopranos they stood in formation, dressed in their black and white garments. Once upon a time, I had sung in such a choir, flanked by my kinsfolk. The de Watteau clan wasn't just the best soldiers around. We were also one of the best choirs in the Low Countries.

Hugue de Watteau, born seventh son in a family of eight children. The eighth was my only sister. When Mother was on her deathbed, she made her sons promise to take care of the younger ones. I was four then. Anais two. She was our gentle dove in a clan of warriors and wise beyond her years. How many times did we find her darning our torn clothes? How many times did we come into the kitchen after morning training to find our breakfast ready on the table near the window that looked out onto her well-tended flowerbeds? How many times during our training break would we see her tiny frame staggering under a heavy lunch basket, her sunshine-like hair flowing out from under her little white bonnet?

"_Let the stars in the sky remind us of Man's compassion..." _

One crystal voice rises above the rest. Its owner can't be more than twelve, her hair shining like an angel's halo around her face…I almost leap to my feet. _Anais!_ The name died on my lips. Cold, cruel logic settles in. The girl singing cannot be Anais. My little sister is a woman by this time, just as the boy who used to sing in the choir is no more…

* * *

"Hugue! Take Anais and run, run and live!" Father ordered that terrible night. The vampires had caught us by surprise. We were outnumbered and surrounded. I saw by the look on Father's face that he meant to die that night. 

I had a pistol with silver bullets in my hand. Twelve-year-old Anais had a loaded crossbow. It was the first time she held a weapon. Our brothers fought hard. While they and Father held the monsters at bay, I took my sister's hand and fled into the kitchen. The kitchen window opened into the walled back garden. The grilles are spaced so that a small girl and a half-grown boy might be able to slip through them easily. Once outside the house, we would climb the wall and get any help we could.

While our family fought and died, we opened the window and clambered out through the grilles. Anais slipped through easily and dropped harmlessly four feet into the flowerbed below. I followed with some difficulty and landed badly, snapping my right wrist and jarring my shoulder out of its socket. We heard the vampires tearing through the back door. _Leave me, Anais… _I gasped out through gritted teeth. _Flee. I can't climb without slowing you._ _Save yourself!_ She wouldn't, not my brave little sister.

She let fly one bolt from her crossbow that got a vampire in the throat. I tried to fire my pistol with my left hand from where I was lying. The blasted gun jammed. One of the monsters grabbed my good wrist and crushed it. I heard Anais gasp out. In the moonlight, a vampire had his hands around her small throat. Anais' feet kicked helplessly in the air as she choked. I staggered to my feet and launched my body hard against the demon hurting Anais. A burning pain sliced through me… I was flung hard against a wall. Forgive me, Anais, I fainted. The last thing I heard before I passed out was her scream.

When help finally came, the massacre was over. The mangled corpses of Father and our brothers were found scattered in the house. All they found of Anais was her crossbow and bloodied bonnet. The de Watteau dead were hurriedly coffined and laid to rest in the cemetery. When my wounds healed, I vowed on those graves to hunt down their killers and find Anais. At sixteen, I sold my sword and soul to the Vatican… Since then, I have been searching…

* * *

"Why bless my old heart, if it isn't Master Hugue!" A quavering voice jars me back to the present. An old priest hobbles down the aisle, the same Father Elmo who nursed me back to health after the massacre. "Hugue, so it is true. They say you have taken up the cross, a soldier of God." I may wear a cassock, but I am no soldier of God, merely a penitent. He peers through his glasses at me. "A travelling priest? Where are you heading?" 

_Where?_ I have no destination in mind. I have no reply. I keep my eyes on the stark black cross that dominated the church. The Son gazes back at me through blind, painted eyes. God has abandoned me a long time ago. There are no answers to my prayers here.

Father Elmo is used to my silence. During my time with him, I doubt I had spoken more than two whole sentences in his presence. Now he sits at my side and chatters on like a squirrel about his choir, the coming Sunday mass and the peaceful parish the Vatican sent him to after we parted ways. I let his words slide by. I believe he knows more about me by my silence than any words.

"Hugue," the old priest suddenly turns to me, holding my gaze with his sombre look. "It is a heavy burden you bear. God forgives, but first you must forgive…" _Forgive? He expects me to forgive those monsters who tore my family from life?_ I have rested. I rise from the pew and make my way out. Father Elmo makes no attempt to stop me or follow. Instead he continues.

His next words surprise me. "Yourself…" I am already striding down the aisle and out the open church doors. _Forgive myself?_ I am unworthy of pity or forgiveness. The choir launches into a harmonious song as I step over the threshold. It is another familiar song from a long past childhood. It was one of her favourite songs.

"_How many roads must a man walk down_

_Before we can call him a man? _

_How many miles must the white dove fly_

_Before she rests in the sand?"_

The melodious strains drift away in the wind as I walk further away from the church. The road unwinds before me, long and never-ending. I was told to expect the worst. It was unlikely a little girl could escape from a gang of vampires. They tell me Anais is dead, only I survived that terrible night. They were wrong. There is only one survivor- _Anais_. When I heard you scream in that moonlit garden, it was me who died.

I believe you are somewhere on this Earth. You escaped death that night, I cannot explain how. Maybe God sent his angels to pluck our little dove to safety. Till the day I find you, I am in purgatory.

* * *

**Author's Notes:**

The anime glossed over Hugue's past. It hints that he has some issues with vampires and is a loner. The manga mentions Hugue lost a sister (Anais or Ans?) to vampires. I think he probably feels guilty about failing to protect his sister then. I have a vague idea of Hugue's sister being a bit like Sister Agnes from the anime, except younger, with more spunk and blond hair like her brother's.

Purgatory - A Catholic concept, a place where souls repent for their sins on Earth before moving on to the light.


	3. Esther

Disclaimer: Trinity Blood and its characters do not belong to me. This fanfic consists of monologues by the characters at their most alone. Not in chronological order. May contain spoilers for the anime. Rated for potential dark and mature themes.

Another update this week, since I may be absent for a while due to the Spring Festival.

This is one of the tough ones: Finding Esther at a time where she is experiencing a lot of conflict. As one of the main characters, she does get into a lot of conflicts. So I am going with a pre-anime look at her thoughts before she commits murder…

* * *

**Esther: Whispers in the Dark**

"_Thou shalt not kill…"_

"_An eye for an eye; a tooth for a tooth…"_

"_Turn the other cheek…"_

Phrases from the Good Book chase each other through my head as I sweep the central aisle of St Matthias in the fading light. Reverend Mother, what should I do? There is a gun in a box under the confessional seat. Dietrich has risked his life to get it. If they knew, there is no telling what might happen to Dietrich, or to all the believers in Istvan for that matter. The church is our sanctuary. The Marquis has tolerated our existence for many years. One dark night, the balance suddenly tipped.

Now the Marquis' secret police watches us. Any misstep is followed by a knock in the dead of the night, a hasty arrest and swift journey to the outskirts where a firing squad waits. Our parishioners are constantly harassed and ill-treated by the marauding patrols. A lay brother of our church was beaten so badly, his back was broken. Even Dietrich, who works in Lord Gyula's manor as a servant, is not spared. Earlier when he taught me how to load and aim the gun, I saw dark bruises on his forearms where his long sleeves rode up.

Istvan became a city of darkness. People are fearful. One by one, the brothers and sisters left or disappeared in the night. Until only the Reverend Mother and I remained. Now that she is gone, I am truly alone… I miss her…

"_Esther, this star was bestowed on you by God. It is a sign that you will be the star that guides the light of spring to Istvan, this city of night." _

The voice seems so near and so real. I turn but the aisle is empty. I am being foolish. They came in the night and took her away. She is dead. Everyone has gone, except the little orphan girl who was left in the care of St Matthias' church. The Reverend Mother loved this beautiful city with all its flaws. Once, it was the Pearl of the Danube, she told me. That was why she chose to stay on despite everything.

God, Mother Mary, Reverend Mother, I need your guidance now.

I never really noticed Dietrich before. Maybe like so many others, he daren't come to church that often. On the day I learnt of her death, I ran into the church crying. She was like a mother to me. He was standing in the aisle staring at a stained glass window portraying the Archangel St. Michael slaying the serpent. I stumbled. Like some fairytale knight, he came to my aid. He caught me before I fell and hurt myself.

I thought he was an angel. Later, he told me he had thought the same of me. We ended up sitting in the pews and speaking with each other, sharing our heartaches. Like me, Dietrich's family was killed by vampires. They were arrested one dark night and taken away on Lord Gyula's orders. The same thing happened to Reverend Mother Laura…

We cannot allow Lord Gyula, the Vampire of Istvan, to persecute us anymore.

"It is simple, really…" I hear his voice, clam and reassuring. He is taller and older than me. I believe he is seventeen or so. I guess it is natural that he should be more confident. In the confines of the small back kitchen, Dietrich stands behind me as I learn to handle the gun. His body feels warm against mine where we inevitably brushed against each other. I can smell the cheap, harsh soap on his clothes. I feel his hands on mine, moulding them to fit snugly around the butt of the gun. His warm breath brushes against my face as he coaches me.

I wonder what it would be like for him to hold me in his arms… Ack! What am I thinking? I blush.

God forgive me. The Reverend Mother is not yet dead a month and I am having some far from pure thoughts before the altar. I suppose this is the result of reading one too many penny romances. _God, let thy perpetual light shine upon Laura Vitez and grant her peace… _I stop to light a candle before the statue of the Virgin and Child. I always loved this statue. Tonight, the Virgin seems strangely forlorn. In the alcove to the side, the statue of our patron saint stood with his hand raised in blessing or warning.

Dietrich and I argued earlier about what we should do. Two have to be killed. God forgive us. One is Lord Gyula, our vampire tyrant of Istvan. The other is his second-in-command and chief of the secret police, Colonel Radcon. A merciless bastard, Dietrich called him. Maybe Radcon was the one who had him beaten. Radcon is the target tonight. The Colonel always passes through a dark alley near the church alone after a night of drinking and carousing. As a young man, Dietrich will arouse suspicion if he were to linger outside after dark, easy prey for the dreaded patrols. But a sister of the church…

"I will not be suspected. Teach me how to use a gun." I remember the look on his face, torn with indecision. I persisted. He finally relented.

_Fine, Esther. Do be careful. But remember, Gyula's mine. _He placed his hand on mine and gave it a gentle squeeze. His brown eyes were so soft with concern. I would have kissed him then, but we were standing under the gaze of the crucified Lord. It just didn't seem right, unless there is priest to approve of it as in a wedding.

The next day, he brought me a gun. I will kill Radcon, then Gyula. Never mind what Dietrich says. Tonight I will cover my hands with blood. I will bloody my hands for the both of us…

In truth, I am terrified. Doubt assails me. I wish he were here. Somehow, Dietrich's presence always reassures me. But he will not be around tonight when I kill Radcon. _The Colonel will be drunk when he comes by. Move quickly. Shoot him close in the chest then empty the bullets into his head. Then get the hell out of there… _he had instructed me before he left.

The hour draws near. I take the firearm and load it. I put it into the crude holster under my habit. It feels heavy and cold against my flesh. Soon, Radcon will come staggering like a drunken pig for the slaughter down that dark little alley. I will shoot him just like he shot so many… Why do I feel so uneasy? The night is dark and starless. The moon covered by clouds. Only the meagre streetlamps light the night…

* * *

The deed is done. My knees are weak and shaking. My shaking hands are clenched tight on the spent gun. I see the new corpse I have created lying in the pool of lamplight. There is blood on my habit. I can't move… I don't know how long I stand frozen. 

"Esther!" a hoarse whisper echoes down the alley. Dietrich. I hear his urgent footsteps, his laboured breathing. He must have run all the way from the manor in the outskirts.

"Esther, this way! Hurry!" He is by my side, prising the gun from my hands. I hear shouts and heavy running footsteps. A patrol!

"Esther, we must move," Dietrich grips my arm and pulls me away from the scene. We flee into the sanctuary of the church…

He ushers me into the kitchen but I tear myself free, sobbing weakly. I dash up to my room where I strip off my bloodstained garments. I shut the bathroom door and turn on the shower fully, letting the water drench me. I hear movement outside the bathroom door. Dietrich is saying something but I cannot make it out over the roar of running water. His voice is so distant and distorted, it sounds like a stranger's.

_Mother in Heaven, what have I done?

* * *

_

**Author's Notes:**

I know some reviewers might want to flame me for suggesting attraction between Esther and Dietrich. However, this is a 15-year-old girl and a 17-year-old boy. Hormones are running riot at that age, hence some hints at 'naughty' thoughts from Esther. Of course, the white-knight Dietrich she is attracted to is not the real deal. In the manga, I believe the puppy-love thing was more pronounced. Review me anyway if you think the attraction part is weird.

There may be further monologues by Esther during other events in the anime.

One thing, I have not seen any statues of St Matthias, so I don't know if he's the saint portrayed with his hand raised in blessing. I am drawing a lot of the descriptions of the old-styled churches from my own vague childhood memories. Correct me if anything regarding the church architecture is amiss.


	4. Gyula

Disclaimer: Trinity Blood and its characters do not belong to me. This fanfic consists of monologues by the characters at their most alone. Not in chronological order. May contain spoilers for the anime. Rated for potential dark and mature themes.

I'm drawing from both anime and manga on this one. This is the first time I am doing a Methuselah's POV, please review.

Slight grammatic errors amended.

* * *

**Gyula: Moonlit Memories**

My beloved wife smiles at me. Her dark brown hair is tousled with sleep. In the moonlight, she leans over to kiss my lips lightly as I awake from my slumber… I reach over to slip my arm around her slender waist, to pull her soft warm body close to mine, to look into her soft blue-grey eyes…

My arms close in on empty air. I sigh and rise from the too-large bed. Even after so many years, I cannot shake off the notion that I will awake to Maria's smiling face. I should know better. The place next to me in our marital bed has been empty since that night. Like a dead man, I wash, shave and dress. I snap on the cuff links Maria had given me on our first wedding anniversary. I realize with a sharp pain that it is our eightieth wedding anniversary tonight.

Are you still alive, Maria? Even if your hair has gone white with age, you will still be my beloved. Where are you? What happened to you? I want to know the truth, the answers…

You smile benignly from the portrait I commissioned. The Terran painter who painted it is long dead, got drunk and drowned in the Danube, so I heard. A pity, he was a gifted young man. It just goes to show that most Terrans have no good sense for self-preservation in them, even with their shorter life spans. I am a self-imposed exile of the Empire. I have not returned to the Imperial court since the day I fell out with my family over my decision to take a Terran wife.

On the banks of the Danube River, we made our matrimonial home on the outskirts of this city, your city. I became known as the Marquis of Hungary. I don't care if they think I am a fool, a disgrace to our noble race or worse, insane. My second cousin's letter last week hinted at that. I only know that my life was changed that winter night I met you and lost my heart to your smile.

I have lingered long in my grief. A few months ago, I hired a computer programmer to help resurrect the Star. Your family was the guardian of that Lost Technology. We believed that if we revived the star, we could bring light back to your beloved Istvan. It was our dream. It died when you disappeared. Now I intend to revive it, do I have your blessings to do so? It was a wrench to show that youth to our special place and let him touch the dusty keyboards to restore the long dormant system.

My limo glides over the bridge and into the city. The streetlamps are glowing softly, as they did that long ago night…

* * *

I was young and rash then. My parents packed me off to the outpost of Hungary to ostentatiously broaden my horizons. I believe it was to keep me from bringing further shame on the Kadar name back home with my wild partying. I came to Istvan late that cold silent night. My carriage wheel broke in front of the grand church of St Matthias. While my servants fought to repair the carriage, I sat bored, watching the Terrans file out of their Midnight Mass. 

I saw you coming gracefully down the steps, a lit candle in your hands. The cold brought roses to your cheeks. You wore a long pink cloak against the biting cold, the hood pulled up over your hair. With the other Terrans, you filed past the stalled carriage. By chance you looked up. Our eyes met. You smiled and I lost my soul in your blue-grey eyes.

What I did next probably has the whole of the Byzantinum court shaking their heads, if not sniggering behind their hands. I asked you for directions to my hotel, faking that I was lost. Noble Methuselahs do not ask favours of Terrans. Oh, I knew where the hotel was, really. But I was desperate for any excuse to speak to you. We wound up speaking for a good half-hour in the shadow of the church.

Maria, a Terran with a degree in computer engineering from the Albion University, was born the only child of a respectable old Istvan family. She was witty, intelligent and gentle, in addition to her beauty. She was eighteen, orphaned and had no other living kin. That allayed some fears I had on how a Terran family might react to having a Methuselah court their precious daughter. Getting shot with silver bullets by my potential father-in-law or brother-in-law could be very awkward, if not deadly.

I stayed in this city to court you. Come the following summer, I proposed to you on the same spot we first met. You smiled shyly and accepted my proposal in the soft moonlight. My family objected and protested to no avail.

_She'll age faster than you. You'll wake up one day to find yourself married to an old hag._ I love her for being her, not for her face.

_Her lifespan is a lot shorter than ours. You'll not have that many years together. Fifty years, maybe. What next? _There will only be one queen of my heart. Even if Maria is no longer around, she will still be my beloved.

_Stop this folly or we'll disown you._ Go ahead. I intend to move to Istvan and live with Maria in her family home. It is spacious enough and I am sure there is loads of room for our children. Maybe we will have a dozen or so. Are you sure you wouldn't like to visit us someday, gramps?

_Never darken our doorstep again!_

My heart was set. We were wed the following month by the full moon's light. Together, we started on a new chapter of life as man and wife… Ah, the happiest days of my life. You opened my heart and my eyes, showed me what it meant to love and be loved. Seven years of heavenly bliss. It ended too soon, my beloved.

Plague came to the city. You wanted to bring medicine into the city, to St Matthias where the nuns tended to the sick. I was worried for your safety. Let the servants do that, I beseeched. You would not be persuaded. You loved this city and its people too much. You kissed me and promised to be back…

* * *

Maria never came back. 

I searched for her. I went to St Matthias where she often went to help the poor of the city. Maria was a believer, a follower of the Church. She was not there. The frightened nuns could not tell me what happened to my wife. Whispers spoke of a dark carriage stopping near the church. Red liveried soldiers took her away. The Inquisition. I appealed to both Church and Empire.

The Vatican feigned ignorance. _We do not have such a person in our custody…_ The Empire poured scorn. My cousin, the cold-hearted ambassador to Central Europe, wrote that he was sorry for my loss. _I regret that you had to find out the hard way, dear cousin Gyula, what truly faithless bitches Terran women are… Would you be keen in introductions to a decent Methuselah noblewoman?_

Go to hell, dear ambassador cousin. I challenged and shot him in a duel. Maria is faithful to me. There is no conceivable reason why she would simply run off. Still, Maria never returned.

Every night I act out this ritual, driving past the doors of St Matthias, hoping against hope… Every night, I taste the bitterness of disappointment. Hope fades and I fall further into the abyss. For Maria's sake, I have tolerated the church's presence, so long as they play by the rules. Damn the Vatican. They send their servants to snoop, pry and fire discontent. Those who break the rules will pay the price. I can only take so much.

The streets are deserted. I pride myself on keeping unrest and crime in check in this city. I have dug myself into this city a long time back, hoping that she will return. St Matthias looms in front like a dark hulk. I know my hope is frail. Terrans do not live that long, do they?

There is someone strolling up the steps. Dietrich? I order my chauffeur to stop. Why on earth would a computer programmer be visiting the church so late at night? He knocks on the door, constantly glancing about. For some reason, he fails to see my limo parked in the shadows. The door opens. I recognize the late Vitez's protégé, a young sister with red hair. The youthful pair darts inside like two rats down a hole. Unease gnaws at me.

It is one thing if Dietrich decides to pay court to a nun. I can't care less even if they fornicate before the altar. However, my instincts tell me things are not so simple. Have Radcon question the boy. No, Radcon is a sadist with a weakness for young boys. I still need Dietrich's help with the Star. Let him finish his work first. Then put him in front of a firing squad if he's guilty of inciting rebellion. Well, he's been a good help and the least I can give him is a quick death rather than a slow, painful one.

"Have them watched," I order my guard. He nods curtly. We drive on, back across the Danube, back through the manor gates.

My footman opens the door for me as I return. I ring for my butler and order a bottle of Boudreaux red wine to be sent from the cellar. It was Maria's favourite. When he returns with the wine, I pour myself a glass, dismiss him and toast Maria. Her blue-grey eyes gaze back at me. St Matthias must go. I must close this final door and give up an impossible hope.

I have grieved too long. It is time to move on. I will avenge her soon. Take my revenge on the Vatican who betrayed Maria's trust.

I look around the empty hall. I know the servants are going about their daily, or in this case, nightly chores below stairs. To me the manor is a hollow shell, haunted by memories of the past. I swirl the red liquid in my glass and sigh.

* * *

**Author's Notes:**

In the manga, Maria is Terran, which I think makes the love Gyula has for her all the more touching. She was burnt to death as a witch by the Inquisition. In the anime, she simply disappeared. In both anime and manga, Gyula places the blame on the Vatican. I get the sense he is a very lonely, bitter individual who is also isolated from other Methuselahs. Correct me if I misunderstood. I let him have a sentimental reason (in addition to the political one he provides Abel with) for retaining the Church in Istvan.

Below stairs - where most of the servant population in a typical Victorian noble household work (laundry, kitchens, gardens etc). Only a select few are granted access to the living quarters of their employers, like the butler.

Please read and review.


	5. Alessandro

Disclaimer: Trinity Blood and its characters do not belong to me. This fanfic consists of monologues by the characters at their most alone. Not in chronological order. May contain spoilers for the anime. Rated for potential dark and mature themes.

Back to the Church in this chapter.

In the Trinity Blood universe, I don't know if popes are allowed to legally marry. In 21st century AD reality, ordained Catholic priests, nuns, monks are expected to keep to a vow of celibacy. In anime, it was hinted that Caterina's father was the last pope. In the manga, it was hinted that Caterina and Francesco were born to different mothers. Frankly, there is next to no family resemblance between Alessandro and his siblings. If the celibacy aspect holds in the Trinity Blood universe, it sounds like the last pope was in a fair bit of scandal…

* * *

**Alessandro: Prayer of a Lost Shepherd**

_Now I lay me down to sleep;__  
I pray Thee, Lord, my soul to keep.__  
If I should die before I wake.__  
I pray Thee, Lord, my soul to take…_

Dear Father in Heaven, I am Alessandro XVIII, Your servant, Pope and spiritual shepherd to millions. Why me, God? I didn't ask to be Pope. I am scared and bewildered. I am not cut out for this. My robes are too heavy for my shoulders. The mitre makes my neck ache. The papal throne is hard and uncomfortable on my behind. I shudder inside when they file in. Black, red, white-clad servants of God, the College of Cardinals present me with a long list of items needing my attention. There will be more tomorrow, I'm sure.

Should the basilica be restored to its former glory? Should the priest who was slain by vampires in some obscure town a few centuries back be declared a saint? Declare the lock of hair found in the vaults under Paris as a relic of St Joan of Arc please. Set the Inquisition army onto heretics in Morocco… _Why are you asking me? The Inquisition is already tearing up Morocco!_ I wanted to scream. Instead I cringed as my two most trusted advisors, and my siblings, engaged in a heated argument over my head.

_Grant peace on Earth and to all Mankind… _

I will have to apologize on a diplomatic level to the Prince of Morocco. Sister will take care of that part. Why is it I am the last one to know when trouble lands on the Holy City? Every decision I make or don't make leads to wars and lives being lost. My brother and sister flank me, two strangers. I do not know what they want, what they think, except every bad decision or mistake on my part anger and disappoint them. God, make someone else Pope, please. I just want a little corner in some quiet monastery. A simple cassock and porridge is good enough for me. Let me copy manuscripts, or plant herbs. Is that too much to ask?

I lived with Mama in a mansion in Florence. Mama had brown hair and soft brown eyes. Father seldom called on us. Mama said it is because he is a very important man and very busy with his work. The other children teased me for having a father who was often away. The neighbours and servants whispered behind our backs. I understand from their words that I was born a bastard. Good women do not have babies out of wedlock. But Mama was a good Christian woman, wasn't she, God? She died when I was seven. I went into the care of the church. At eight, I decided I wanted to serve God as a monk in the monastery that was my refuge from the cold cruel world.

When I was in the monastery, Father continued to visit. Sometimes, he brought others with him. There was a dark-haired young man who sometimes came with him. I thought he was a soldier. Other times, it was a young sister with curly blond hair like an angel's. Then there was a sour-faced man with grey hair and a perpetual frown… It was much later that I found out who they are.

One day Father died. They took me away and made me Pope.

Thank you, God, for blessing me with Brother Francesco and Sister Caterina. They have stood by me always, like the custodians of the Faith they are.

Today they screeched at each other in front of the assembly over the Morocco incident, whatever it was that triggered it. Can you tell me where Morocco is? And why vampires are infesting it as my brother said? What kind of a place is it? I have never been there yet. Maybe someday I will have to hold a Mass there. I held a Mass in Paris once. They have a beautiful cathedral. Mama once mentioned that they have a famous opera house there… but Popes don't go to the opera.

Popes can't do a lot of things. No playing games, no keeping pets, no disagreeing with your elders, no going to the park, no vacations with friends… Right, I have not had any friends since I left the monastery. Popes do not have friends they can play tag with. I had friends once, three novice monks and five orphan boys about my age. I forget their names but we used to play tag in the monastery orchard. One of them, I think his name is Matthew or Mark, taught me lots of catchy tunes on his flute. Brother Francesco told me off for humming one of those tunes. I guess Popes cannot sing or hum as well.

Sister Caterina had a lovely singing voice, before it became hoarse from all that shouting. I heard her sing carols when she visited me at Christmas. Before they made me Pope, my brother and sister would visit me, alone or with Father. They were very much older than me, very kind and friendly. They asked about my lessons and my life in the monastery. They were very pleased when I told them about my decision to serve God. Brother said that if I work hard, I may become a cardinal. Sister said I have a good memory to remember all those hymns and gospels. They never mentioned Pope.

My brother and sister never visited together. I heard from the bother monks that they had different mothers and did not live together when they were children. Brother lived in Tuscany with his mother and Sister lived in Milan with her mother and her mother's extended family. Maybe that explains why they cannot get along. Like me, their mothers are dead. Brother's mother died from an illness. Sister's mama and her family were killed by vampires, so the rumours go. Sister never talked to me about losing her mama. She used to get sad when I talk about Mama. We rarely talk nowadays.

God, why can't Brother and Sister agree for once?

Wait. They once agreed on something. I remember it was the day I became Pope. Uncle was furious. He was red in the face and yelling at us when we were walking down the aisle.

"You can't put a bastard boy on the papal throne!" _Bastard._ I shied away from his rage. I almost hid behind the voluminous robes of my siblings but they took me by the hand. They stood beside me as they faced Uncle without wavering.

"Uncle Alfonso, please don't make a fool of yourself," Sister's crystal clear voice cut through his angry tirade. "If the definition of bastard is a child born out of wedlock, we are all bastards here. Dear departed Father was for all his wisdom, flawed in that aspect. I believe all the Vatican knows that without you announcing it to the world." She gave my hand a reassuring squeeze. Her hand was so warm and comforting. I could not see her face clearly because of her large hat and blond curls.

"Uncle, I demand you allow us to proceed," Brother's voice rang out, clear and commanding. It is the same voice he uses when he speaks to his men. "His Sanctity has had a long day…" His voice softened a little as he stole a sideways glance at me. His fierce eyes were soft when they met mine and I am sure he gave me a little hint of a smile. He was concerned for me. I want to believe he still is when he yells at me.

I never really like Uncle Alfonso. He makes me uneasy. Sister does not like him. Brother was close to him. If I am not mistaken, Brother lived with Uncle for a while after his mother died. After we met Uncle in the corridor before the ceremony, we never saw him again. Brother later found out that he had left Rome and moved elsewhere. I may not like him but he is still our uncle. I pray that one day we can be reconciled.

Afterwards, Brother and Sister never seem to get along. Even their men do not get along. Last week an AX agent got into a scuffle with an Inquisition patrol over some arrests. They met in the assembly hall to meditate and parted shouting at each other. I want to believe they know what is best for me and the Church. I want to believe that we are working together for a common good even if we argue. Can I believe in that?

Why me, God? Why not some cardinal? I am only a kid, the youngest bastard offspring of your last Pope. I cannot command an army like my big brother Francesco. I am not as sharp-witted as big sister Caterina. I am nowhere as brave or fearless as them. So why me?

Everyday I feel like I am losing a bit of myself in the squabbling. I feel I am fading away under the endless paperwork, Masses and assemblies. Maybe one day when Brother and Sister stop arguing to catch their breaths, they will find the papal throne empty between them. Who will be the next Pope then? Maybe the cardinals will go to some quiet monastery and find some orphan boy they can dress up and put on the throne for Brother and Sister to shout over his head. Poor kid.

Tonight as I end my prayers, I know I will still be asking the same questions tomorrow when I get up. I will probably keep asking till the day I die.

_Why me?

* * *

_

**Author's Notes: **

The prayer at the start of the chapter is part of a children's bedtime prayer. Alessandro appeared very young, confused and timid in the anime. He's just a kid.

Caterina and Francesco do fight a good deal. In fact, they argue almost every time they meet in the anime. Their motivations are very different. Francesco is a fanatic. Caterina is more pragmatic. However, in the Silent Noise arc, it was hinted that they had cooperated I previously in putting Alessandro on the papal throne. I dunno if Alessandro's thoughts are plausible given his tender age. The background on Francesco's mother and Alessandro's is fictional, but the bit on Caterina's family is taken from anime canon.

Please review whether I have got the family ties messed up. Other comments and critiques are welcome.


	6. Astaroshe

Disclaimer: Trinity Blood and its characters do not belong to me. This fanfic consists of monologues by the characters at their most alone. Not in chronological order. May contain spoilers for the anime. Rated for potential dark and mature themes.

Reloaded with corrected typos.

* * *

**Astaroshe: Lilies from a Tigress **

In the name of duty to the Empress, I confronted him. Under the same banner of loyalty, I killed him. I see him falling, the gaping hole in his chest mute proof that I have carried out my duty to protect the Empress. Was it? Uncle Suleyman, you aren't that bad an aim. You never meant to kill our Empress, did you? You missed by a good ten yards.

I stare at the canopy of my four-poster bed. I can't believe it, even now. The events of the past few days were like a dream. The Duke of Tigris guilty of high treason, attempted murder and regicide. He ordered the deaths of Duchess Mirka, her young grandson and a mere Terran girl… Together with Radu, the sweet-natured boy who used to bring me lilies, he plotted against our Mother… Radu had changed too, hadn't he? People you think you know change into strangers…

Uncle, that bloody hurts. I used to look up to you. I really can't face the scheduled audience with the Empress… That's right, go back to sleep, Asta… Sweet dreams… away from the big bad world…

"_Are you going to stay like this for the rest of your life?"_

"Of course not, Uncle," I rouse myself from my blankets. Venus, my pet tigress, nuzzles me as I throw on my robe. I ring the bell for my butler. I order a hearty breakfast for myself and my pet.

Pale white lilies sit in a crystal vase by my window. They always gave me lilies: Uncle Suleyman, a single white lily for five-year-old Asta to place on her father's coffin; Reniya, pink blooms when he came to court his young fiancée. Later, Radu during our short-lived affair, bright orange tiger lilies fliched from the Academy gardens. The sly rogue. I had nothing against Radu then, except I was not ready for another man yet.

I met you at my father's funeral. I have no clear memories of my father as he was often absent from home. I threw a huge tantrum at his long, boring funeral where all everyone did was to talk of my father's endless but boring achievements. My mother was at a loss with what to do with me. While I was kicking and screaming on the marble floor of my family's mausoleum, one of the cortege came up to me, scooped me up in his arms, carried me to a corner of the mausoleum and sat me down on his lap. You gave me a Turkish delight to chew on while you entertained me with little magic tricks and stories of brave warriors and wise kings from long ago.

I fell asleep somewhere in the middle of _Aladdin and the Magic Lamp_. When the wake was nearing its end, you woke me, gave me a white lily from the bouquet you had brought and asked me to place it on my father's coffin like a good little girl. You promised to visit me and tell me more stories if I would do so. I asked for more Turkish delights. You had run out of the sweets but you promised to bring me a box. Unlike my parents, you kept your promises to a little girl. Two days later, you called at my place, with a box of Turkish delights and a picture book copy of _Tales from the Arabian Nights_.

* * *

Uncle Suleyman soon became little Asta's favourite visitor. He visited almost weekly when he was in the capital. When he had to leave on business, he brought back interesting trinkets and more fascinating tales. When I was about twelve, the visits became less frequent. There were more important issues for young Astaroshe's attention than a family friend's stories. Don't get me wrong, little gifts of Cathay pearls, Kush gemstones and Baltic amber were still cherished, so long as they match my dresses. 

I am an only child, born to my parents in their later years. After my father's death, the Asran household was left without a man to head it. My mother, the then Duchess of Kiev, took over the reins of the household. She was a busy woman and she made up for the lack of time she spent with me by showering me with costly gifts. I became a spoiled, willful young lady. There was no one to discipline me. All my governesses and nannies were at a loss, although they conceded that they found me intelligent and a quick learner.

My mother had matched me with Reniya, who tolerated my many wiles. I loved him dearly although he was much older than me. I wanted to be with him as his partner, not just as his fiancée or wife. I pouted and sulked until he finally relented and allowed me to accompany him on a routine patrol outside the city walls. That was a mistake that was to cost dear Reniya his life. Midway through the patrol, we ran into the Yeniceri, the Empire's elite guard.

They had been tracking a dangerous criminal, Endres Zagreb, and lost him in the rough countryside. Reniya asked me to return to the city with two of his men while his patrol joined the search. I refused. He ordered me to do so. In a huff, I took off down a narrow path, alone. Reniya followed after me, leaving behind both his patrol and the Yeniceri. We rode for a full hour into rough, isolated terrain. We were so intent arguing that we did not sense Endres nearby.

Endres grabbed me, took me hostage and demanded Reniya's pass so he could escape through the border. We were hopelessly far from all aid. Reniya resisted then relented, throwing over his pass. Then Endres killed him. Reniya died in my arms. My mind still blocks out what followed… They found me much later, dishevelled, my garments torn to shreds, sobbing hysterically over Reniya's corpse. Endres had slipped through the border and out of their grasp.

I took to my bed. I lost track of time. I hardly slept or ate. My aged mother was at a loss. She had retired from active service by then. I turned away all visitors, be they friends or relatives. During this dark time, I turned and was obliged to allow myself the occasional sip of blood to ease my thirst.

* * *

One day, you called on me. You shoved aside my mother's attempts to stop you and fairly kicked in my bedroom door. "Asta, are you going to stay like this for the rest of your life?" 

You slapped me_ hard_. I had never been slapped that way by anyone before, not even by my parents. A blind fury overcame me and I lunged at you. I spat, screeched and clawed at you. My poor mother could only stand and scream at the sudden turn of events. You managed to overpower me in my weakened state and pin me up against the wall by my shoulders until I calmed down a little.

You calmly related how the murderer of my fiancé was living it up Outside, growing rich on his ill-gotten gains while sullying our reputations as Methuselahs by his wanton slaughter of Terrans. I became angry as I listened to your words. This time, it was a quiet anger.

"He must be stopped." I clenched my pale fists.

"Then stop him, Astaroshe. Now you have come of age to serve the Empress. You always are a fighter and you fight like a tigress with cubs," you spoke quietly. I then realized my fingernails had torn open your cheek. My mother was dabbing at your cheek with a clean towel. I knew the wound would heal quickly. Still, I never got a chance to apologize.

You then left. The next day, I met the Duchess of Moldova and was sent to the Academy. I trained hard to master my spear and my newfound Methuselah abilities. Within six months, I graduated as a full member of the royal service. You sent me a tiger cub when I graduated. _What the hell was I to do with her, Uncle?_ You know my mother is terrified of cats. Still, Venus stayed on at the Asran mansion. My mother did get fairly fond of our large pet in her last days.

My request to be sent after Endres was soon granted. I captured him and returned him to face wrath of our Empress. May the bastard rot in hell.

_What happened?_ I must have missed it while I was busy with my work. After I joined the service, I stopped calling you Uncle. When did you join the extremists? You never believed in bloody coups, did you? Venus nuzzles my elbow. I toss her a large chunk of ham. She chomps on it in contentment.

It is strange that the Empress we served and hailed as our Mother turned out to be a mere slip of a girl, but I will get used to it. Life goes on.

"Get me some lilies." My poor butler starts at my voice and spills the tea. He apologizes profusely. I wave his apologies aside. I know my colleagues and servants secretly call me the Tigress of Kiev. I am still wilful and a loose cannon at times. I must really learn to keep my fiery temper in check.

"Get me some tiger lilies from the greenhouse. I have someone special to call on." My butler bows and strides out. My departed mother might object to me using tiger lilies. She always found them too flamboyant. So what if they are?

I am fleet of foot and will arrive at the palace punctually. Surely the Empress wouldn't mind if I took a detour to pay my respects to a dear Uncle who once read me tales from the Arabian Nights. I want to remember you this way.

_I can fly higher than an eagle.  
__You were the wing beneath my wings. _

_Thank you, thank you…  
__The wind beneath my wings._

* * *

**Author's Notes:**

I have made people cry recently with all the sad monologues, so I hope this one ends on a more hopeful note.

In the anime, Astaroshe used to call Suleyman Uncle when she was a little girl. Can you imagine how she must have felt when she had to confront him? She also gets sorta awkward when he speaks to her. I let him be a sort of father figure to the younger Asta, and the person who spurred her to serve in the royal service. In the manga, Asta has a pet tigress named Venus. I am making up the connections in the Imperial noble households, since in most countries, nobility is a small social circle. The Academy I had in mind is a cross between finishing school and military college.


	7. Virgil

Disclaimer: Trinity Blood and its characters do not belong to me. This fanfic consists of monologues by the characters at their most alone. Not in chronological order. May contain spoilers for the anime. Rated for potential dark and mature themes.

In the anime, Virgil was the one the old Queen entrusted with the task of seeking the Star. How much did the late Queen know about Esther's parentage?

* * *

**Virgil: One Last Waltz**

_Do you remember the first time we met? _

_Long, long ago, long, long ago?_

_We promised each other we will never forget, _

_Long, long ago, long, long ago… _

The monitors flash and motors hum around me as I oversee the running of the Ghetto's newest computer chip line. Running like clockwork as usual. _A time to be born, a time to live and a time to die…_ so my late father used to say. The incoming call button on my telephone blinks. I slowly pick up the receiver. "Captain Spencer is on the line, sir," my secretary's voice drifts over the slight static. "Again." This is the seventh time in an hour.

"Tell her I am busy…" _That's right, Virgil, snivelling coward._ Vanessa, my sister, is right about one thing. I am a coward. It is alright to speak of grand changes and dreams when you are young, of facing your fears but another thing when reality hits you over the head. I never can understand Vanessa. So why bother trying? We will only argue again…

"She demands to speak with you, sir. She says it is urgent," Agatha's voice reflects her distress. "It's about Her Majesty." Of course it is urgent. My heart has been dreading this call for the past few days. Reluctantly, I speak. "Transfer the call please." My voice sounds strange as I force the words out. Agatha must have heard me. A few seconds later, I hear the clipped voice of Mary Spencer on the line. "Sir Virgil. She orders you to go to her." Tense silence follows as she awaits my reply.

"I will, in two hours… I should have the line running by then." _I need more time…_

"Two hours?" The thin veneer of professionalism left in her voice cracks after hours of trying to get me to pick up her call. "She doesn't have two hours, you cold-blooded fool! Our Queen is dying, nincompoop! She's been holding on since morning. The priest has just finished giving her the Last Rites. She wants to see you…" I slump in my chair.

"But…" I try to protest. _I can't face this…_

"She wants to see her _dearest and oldest_ friend!" Mary spits each word out slowly. She has always been envious of the special bond we shared. An iota of self-control seeps back into her voice. "If you take the elevator direct to the palace, you can make it in half an hour. We have the drapes drawn and corridors cleared … If you don't show in half an hour, I swear I will go down and drag you up, with silver bullets if necessary."

"I will be there in a quarter-hour." I have a feeling, a sinking feeling that she will die soon after she sees me. _My Queen, my friend…

* * *

_

It seems like yesterday my father took me to see how the Ghetto's factories were run. I was young then. My father had unexpected visitors from Above, so I was left to my own devices. It was in the sprawling back corridors of the old factory that we met, two bored children unwittingly dragged along on their fathers' business. I took you to the Ghetto's forgotten sector where the adults hardly went. We almost got lost in the vents…

"_Virgil, are you sure this is the way out?" You tugged on my ankle in the dark. "Trust me, Bridie," I tried to sound as confident as an eight-year-old boy could. In truth, I was scared we had made a wrong turn and were hopelessly lost. _

"_Virgil, I see light ahead on the right." I couldn't see any light in the pitch dark. How could you see it if you were behind me in the narrow vent? "Sure?" _

"_Trust me, as I trusted you." _So I forged on ahead. You followed close behind. A few hundred yards down the vent, we found light, pouring through a grill that I kicked out. We emerged onto a landing, dusty, grimy and laughing.

After our scare, we talked, laughed and joked. I folded my hanky into a rose and gave it to you. You asked me if I would dance with you. I said yes. Then our fathers found us. We have been waltzing ever since, haven't we, Bridget? Dancing around each other in a long practiced waltz that has existed since the treaty between the Albionian Terrans and Methuselahs was reached by your far-sighted ancestor. I used to sneak up Above to visit you, just as you used to sneak down to play with me until your father ordered you to stop. The Ghetto could be, and still is, dangerous to those not familiar with its network of endless tunnels.

When you were ten, we went to the fairground behind your nannies' backs. We rode on the merry-go-round and shared an ice-cream sundae. We had so much fun that summer day. My father had me whipped when he found out. When I was eighteen, I turned and our daylight forays ceased.

I watched you grow from a seven-year-old with red pigtails to a gangly teenager and to beautiful young Queen. We were always there for each other. The same year I turned, my parents died in a Ghetto factory blast. My sister was a mere infant in arms then. She slept through the funeral service and bawled for milk when it ended.

"_I am counting on you, Virgil. Please be strong, my guardian of the Ghetto. Albion cannot do without the Ghetto's knowledge."_

"_I can't…" _What did I know then about managing the lives of all the Ghetto-dwellers and the politics with those Above?

"_I have faith in you. Trust me, Virgil." _

You stood beside me. You gave me the strength I needed to step into my father's shoes. Because you believed.

When your father died, you cried on my shoulder. Some paparazzi hiding outside the window got a lucky shot that night. And the next morning, the tabloids were speculating on the new Queen's beau. Don't you just hate it when that happens? After that incident, I have seen you cry twice but you never asked for my shoulder, only a hanky. You are a strong woman, probably stronger than I am. When you got married, I sent you a musical jewellery box as a wedding gift. I programmed it to play your favourite melodies.

You are care for all your subjects, even those who are hidden from the world above. A few years after your husband died, you had the palace renovated. You replaced the windows in your palace and the parliamentary halls with UV filtered glass. You did not want to discuss the issues of the Ghetto over a phone line like our fathers did. You always preferred to discuss face-to-face. There are other issues as well, though not as scandalous as what some councillors whispered.

Our relationship is purely platonic, isn't it? I did have occasion to visit you privately, once when your husband died of illness and later when your Gilbert was killed. On both occasions, you used my handkerchief to dry your tears. They are with you still.

* * *

We were two children suddenly cast out into an unforgiving world before we were ready. Somehow, we survived, so far. Maybe that is the bond we share. We always drew strength from each other. Now I will be soon left alone. How can I continue? How can the Ghetto continue? 

_Who's the next monarch? Do you suppose it will be Duke Erin or Ludwig?_ Vanessa has pestered me recently. _How long before our existence can be revealed to the world?_ Vanessa does not understand. Our invisibility is our protection.

The elevator ride seems to take an eternity. Finally, the doors slide open. I step out into the darkened corridor. Mary is waiting outside. "This way, Sir Virgil," she briskly ushers me into the royal apartments and down one of the corridors to Bridget's bed chamber. I know where it is, since I have visited her there before, but there is no way I am going to let that bit of knowledge to known to anyone else.

"She has not disclosed her heir yet." The captain frowns as she considers the prospect of the country falling into anarchy without a clear successor to the throne. I am terrified of that prospect as well. What will happen to my sister and the other Ghetto-dwellers who depend on the Albionians above for their survival? Where can we go?

Bridget's trusted maid, Janet, lets me in but motions to Mary to stay outside. The captain let out a slight sound of annoyance, but she stays outside in the corridor. Janet closes the door behind her as she steps out, leaving me alone with _her_. There is soft music playing. I recognize the tune. _The Last Waltz._ Soon the waltz between the Albionian royal house and the Ghetto will end. My mouth is dry. My heart is thumping.

"Virgil?" Her voice is a bare whisper as she waves me over weakly. I go over to her bedside and take her hand in mine.

"Your Majesty…" _Will she disclose the name of her heir? Or does she intend to take that to her grave? _

"Virgil, please… call me…Bridie…" her voice is weakening.

"Bridie," I clasp her hand in mine. I know she is dying, fading away too fast. The pigtailed girl, the teenaged princess, the Queen… Now she looks so frail, lying on the pillows with her pale skin and white hair.

"Virgil, the music… box…" She manages a ghost of a smile. I turn in the direction she indicates. On her bedside table sits the jewellery box I gave her so long ago. The music stops ominously.

"Guardian of the Ghetto… custodian to Albion's knowledge," she teases me like she used to when I just took on my father's mantle. She squeezes my hand. "Guardian to my secrets," she whispers.

"Trust me, as I trust you… seek the star…" I understand her. _The identity of her heir lies in the box, but the time is not right yet._ "My dearest Virgil… sorry… I must leave you…"

"Bridie," I choke. The tears came quietly to my eyes. "Trust me… Everything will… be alright…" I feel her cold fingers brush against my cheek, brushing away my tears.

With a final sigh, she smiles, her hand falls from my face. I catch her hand and hold it as it goes limp. Her eyes close for the last time. She looks so peaceful… I will carry out the last wishes of not my Queen, but my dearest friend. I open the jewellery box. It contained only a sealed envelope and a pair of roses folded from white silk handkerchiefs like the ones I always carry with me for her tears. A memento of our friendship.

I shout for Janet and Mary, but not before I slip the envelope into my coat pocket, along with the two silken roses. When the time is right, I will reveal the heir…

_Trust me, as I will trust you.

* * *

_

**Author's Notes:**

Bridie is a common nickname for Bridget or Brigit.

In the anime, we see the Queen as an old woman. Virgil is portrayed as a very solemn man with the physical appearance of a man in his early to mid 20s. They were young and carefree once. I hope I managed to add a deep, platonic friendship aspect to the monarch-loyal courtier relationship between the old Queen and the Count of Manchester. Does anyone suspect young Virgil may unknowingly carry a flame for young Bridie? Please review.


	8. Radu

Disclaimer: Trinity Blood and its characters do not belong to me. This fanfic consists of monologues by the characters at their most alone. Not in chronological order. May contain spoilers for the anime. Rated for potential dark and mature themes.

This one is from Radu's POV after he rescues Ion from the alleys.

* * *

**Radu: A Lying Heart**

_False face must hide what false heart doth know_

Ion Fortuna, I hate you. I hate you for everything you are, everything you stand for…

_So why the hell did I drag you back here instead of leaving you there to bleed out or fry to a crisp in the morning sun?_ How typical of Terrans to utterly mess everything up. If the bullet had been a few inches to the right, I would not have this problem. I will return to the Empire with the sad news that the Empress' cherished emissary has been foully killed by the Vatican… The duchess will go to pieces with grief at the loss of her only grandchild…

_Radu, why the hell did you go looking for him last night? Why the bloody hell did you cut out the silver slug, suck out the poisoned blood from his wound, dress it and…_ I stub out my cigarette in the ashtray.

Ion stirs and rolls over in his feverish sleep. The blanket slides off him and off the bed. With a sigh, I replace the blanket. I check his bandages, so far, they are holding. The fever should break and Ion will be up and about. I am very good at treating wounds you know. Comes from a childhood of being knocked about by my dear Dad. Dad always insisted that he had our best interests at heart. His discipline involved whipping his sons to an inch of their lives on a nightly basis. Mom? She was forever stoned on her vodka and opium. She never interfered with Dad's disciplining us, up to the day she got drunk enough to blow her brains out with Dad's antique pistol in the parlour.

You never knew, did you, Ion? If there is one thing Barvons are good at, it is hiding our secrets. Dad never left bruises on us that can be seen by outsiders. I always wore long pants and sleeves to hide the bruises on my limbs. Often, if any bones are broken, we told everyone I broke my bones falling down the stairs. I am not that clumsy, I assure you. My elder brother fled the family home one dark night from one of these discipline sessions and got hit by a speeding carriage. Hit and run. He died right at our gate. It bloody hurt.

Dad was disgusted when I wept at the funeral. He boxed my ears. _Radu, you cannot be soft if you want to make it in this world, _so my dear Dad said. After that, I swore never to let anything get to me. I shut off my heart. All that mattered was carrying the Barvon name up the steep ladder of noble rank. Why did you think I became your companion, Ion? We are _not _friends. We never were. I hate you.

How I hate you for not having a father who beats you with whatever he gets his hands on. I hate you for not having a mother who is so stone-drunk on vodka and opium that she couldn't even recognize her own children. I hate you for your charmed life. You only have a loving grandmother who surrounded you with love and affection. You enjoyed a blissful, carefree childhood. You had everything a child could ask for, it ain't bloody fair!

When Dad finally died after coming off second best in a death-duel, I secretly spat into his coffin before they closed it. I was taken in by the Duke of Tigris like some stray pup off the streets. _"You are like the son I never had…"_ What nonsense. I'm just a poor little thing he saw fit to take under his wing in an attempt to soothe his conscience over how he treated his own son. I'm a substitute for some dead guy. What do you make of that?

Do you know what happened between Astaroshe and me? She had her fling with me, then dumped me. All the good nobles are sniggering behind their hands about how a lowly baron got ditched big time by the Viscomtess of Odessa. The only way I can climb upwards is by hanging on the coat-tails and skirts of high-born folks like you. Promotions don't come easy to the likes of me. Such is the fate of lower nobles in the grand scheme of things in the Empire. Such unfair rules. That's why I want to change things.

I hate you. You never knew anything. Your childhood was one of laughter, games and adventures. The worst you had to worry about was studies. I look down at his sleeping face and can't help running my fingers through his soft pale-blond hair. It is very different from the dark hair of the Barvons. _Count of Memphis. Grandson of the Moldova house. The treasured heir apparent of the Fortunas who have served at the Empress' right hand for five generations._

_And your best friend…_ a voice in the back of my mind whispers. _No!_ I try to stifle the unwelcome meddling of my conscience. Feeling defeated, I sit on the side of the bed and study his face as he sleeps. I see him in profile as he is facing away from me. Maybe I can settle this now. That Terran brat from the Orden had passed me a pistol loaded with silver bullets, just in case things did not proceed as planned. He reminded me of a weasel charming his prey when we met in that catacomb.

Ion turned when he was about twelve. His childish features give him an air of vulnerability. Probably that was the reason why he was chosen to be the emissary for this mission. In many ways, he is still unbelievably naïve. If it were someone else, I would have shot him in that alley with silver bullets instead of ... I stop as Ion rolls to his other side, turning his face to me. Ion has pale long eyelashes and the ivory pale skin that many court ladies would die for. What a pretty little corpse you will make.

Ion Fortuna, you are more trouble than you are worth. Every scarp, every childish prank you dragged me along on. I am your long-suffering aide, aren't I? Not anymore.

"_Stop speaking like a servant, Radu! I am your friend, aren't I?"_ A younger Ion had smiled as he spoke those words to me, after he emerged scratched and bleeding from a tangle of brambles outside my study window. The little moron had sneaked off from his studies, climbed over the high wall separating his garden from the Barvon compound all to ask me out for games. I was swotting for a history test. I failed the test later and Dad broke one of my ribs as punishment. Why did I agree to play at knights with you that afternoon?

Why is it I cannot shake off the memory of your warm smile and your words? Other memories come running through my mind. Boyish adventures and dreams woven under starry summer skies…

"_We're partners, aren't we?" _he would say before he suggested some new mischief…

I pull back the curtains. The sun is rising. The deep blue of the sea is painted a shimmering gold. Ion always loved to watch the sunrise back home. As boys, we climbed the sea cliffs before dawn so to catch the first rays of dawn as they kissed the sea off our city. I almost wish that the windows weren't UV-filtered. Let the sun put me out of my dilemma forever. A soft noise made me turn back to the bed.

Ion's stirring. He's waking up. I hurriedly put on a smiling face. "Good morning, my partner," I greet him. I built high, strong walls around my heart…only to find them useless the day I met you. Ion, my partner, I hate you for breaching my defences… I hate you, I honestly do…

* * *

**Author's Notes**

Poor Radu's having a dilemma where his pal is concerned. The childhood memory thing is partly from the manga where Ion pops up at Radu's window to ask him out to play while Radu's studying.

The opening quote is from one of Shakespeare's plays.Any guesses? Hint: the play has ambition and betrayal as one of the themes. Answer will be released in the next installment.


	9. Suleyman

Disclaimer: Trinity Blood and its characters do not belong to me. This fanfic consists of monologues by the characters at their most alone. Not in chronological order. May contain spoilers for the anime. Rated for potential dark and mature themes.

Well, the answer for last installment is Shakespeare's Scottish play, Macbeth. Since we are on the theme of betrayal and regicide, the next POV is that of an aspirant to the throne of the Empire of the New Human Breed.

* * *

**Suleyman: The Empty Throne**

_Methought I heard a voice cry 'Sleep no more!'_

"Leave it to me and please feel free to take the throne, Your Majesty." Barvon bows and leaves. I watch him go. I watched him grow from an awkward youth to the man he is today under my patronage. He was a bright boy, the childhood friend of Ion Fortuna. I took him under my wing after his father's death. I thought I knew him, now I know it is not so. The Radu Barvon who has just departed is a stranger to me.

Once I had hopes of adopting him as my heir in place of my dead Ishmael, but it was not to be. Radu appeared fairly resentful of the whole notion, so I never brought it up again. Maybe it was the legacy of a childhood dominated by his abusive father. Radu always had a guarded look about him. I know of only one person who has broken through Radu's defences. And Radu's gone to dispose of that person in cold blood. No, I do not know Radu Barvon at all.

Maybe he knows me for what I am, a father who drove his only offspring to his death. If only I had not objected so violently to Ishmael's relationship with a Terran serving wench, would he had left the city in a temper? Would he have shut me out of his life? I knew he was in Warsaw but I never thought to look him up or anything. His mother was long dead so I had no one to nag or bully me into reconciling with Ishmael. It was a good fifty years later that I heard his voice again over the phone.

"_Father, congrats! You have a grand…" A baby's wail was heard in the background._

"_Thought to call me after all this while?"_

"_Jeez, you're my father… you ought to know…"_

"_I'm not going to acknowledge a Terran woman's brat as my grandchild."_

"_Wait, I broke up with Sarah ages ago! You'll never guess who…" I hung up. I never found out who my daughter-in-law was, or what name they gave the baby. _

A few days later, the trouble started in Warsaw. Terrans betrayed the Methselahs there to the Inquisition. Almost every Methuselah man, woman and child in the city was slain, my son and his infant included. That was why I will never accept negotiating a truce with the Vatican. If our mother is going to betray us to the Vatican, she is no mother of mine!

I have had an uneasy night. What little sleep I had was haunted by troubled dreams. I have a feeling it will be the start of many sleepless nights. Radu does not seem to be suffering from misgivings about what we had accomplished. Maybe he is more ambitious, or ruthless than I have credited him with. _A dangerous man.

* * *

_

Now I stand alone in the empty throne room, before an empty throne.

It is strange that a thing that has always been there is suddenly gone. The Empress is dead. All the worrying, scheming and plotting have paid off. No one has made a move on the throne, yet. The court is teeming with confusion and fears. From this tangled mess, a new leader will arise and take control of the reins. Unease washes over me.

"_If you are afraid, I can hold your hand." _

_Mirka._ The memory leaps to my mind before I can stop it. _A younger Mirka, her pale blond hair bound back by a silken circlet, stands to my right as we stand together before the Empress' throne. Her intelligent eyes study me intently, seeing into my soul. _I feel a chill run down my spine. I watch as the wraith reaches out her hand to me. I see the sunlight flickering through the billowy silk sleeves of her peach-coloured dress… Mirka always shunned formal court wear in favour of her simple but elegant gowns.

_Steel cloaked in silk._ That had always been Mirka. We joined the service at the same time three hundred years ago when we were fresh cadets out of the Academy. Together, we knelt before the Empress and swore our loyalty…

_Mirka's dead, you old fool!_ I chide myself. She's dead. Hacked to death in her bed, burnt to a crisp and cremated for a second time for good measure in the Moldova crypt, along with the late Empress. Long live the Empress indeed. The image fades from my mind, only to be replaced by another.

"_Uncle, read me another story please." This time a younger girl, a mere baby of five, her hair a rich honey blond. Little Asta. _She tugs at my sleeve the way she used to do, her little rosebud mouth pouting. Her lacy frock is spotted with chocolate stains._ "Read me one about King Solomon…" _

_How did you get here? _I almost shout. The shade disappears as swiftly as Mirka's had. Guilt? Doubts? What is it that caused my fevered mind to conjure up such terrible shades? It must be the lack of sleep.

Asta still lived for now. Her disappearance at this crucial time troubles me. She's a sharp one and fiercely loyal to the Empress. I had sounded her out soon after she returned from Outside. I engineered a chance meeting at the little bar outside the Imperial barracks. I knew she would toast Reniya's shade there after the capture of Endres. Her fiancé used to frequent that bar in life. She was fairly in her cups when I got there.

"Terrans feel the same pain we do when they lose a loved one. They love, hate and feel hurt…" Asta, you shut the door yourself, over drinks in that dim, dusty bar. You were too soused to recall anything of our conversation, weren't you? I had Radu send you home in a carriage as you were too drunk to make it back yourself. And some of the other guys in the bar were getting fairly interested in you. Radu had to see them off with his fireballs. Reliable Radu will take care of everything as always, wouldn't he?

Asta's a fighter. She will not be taken alive. If Radu could throw aside his long friendship with Fortuna, why would he hesitate with Asta? The pair had broken up in one of the most spectacular firework displays ever to grace the city. Both strong-willed and fiery-tempered, you were a mismatched pair to start with. Your brief but fiery courtship was the source of much amusement and gossip in the court. Poems and flowers on Monday, fireballs and lightning on Tuesday. In fact, many had bets on whether we would be attending a funeral or a wedding where you two were concerned.

"_Grandmama, can I go play with Radu now?" _Ion's childish voice echoes through the still air, high-pitched and this side of being whiney. I have heard these words countless times at the Moldova mansion in the bygone days when I used to call on Mirka at her place regarding work. Young Ion hated studying and kept trying to wheedle his way out of his books to play ball with his best friend. If my grandchild had lived, he or she would be the same age as Mirka's heir.

_Is Ion dead already? Slain by his childhood friend? _I imagine his slight, dead body lying in one of the many stinking cells below the palace. Here lies the last of the Fortunas. Stabbed to the heart? Burnt? Poisoned with silver? It doesn't matter, does it? At least Mirka wouldn't be too lonely in the afterlife, if there is one. Will they be there waiting to wreak their vengeance on me when it is my turn to go into the dark?

I close my eyes and compose myself with a deep breath. I open my eyes. The shades have fled the throne room. All save one. A black-haired slip of a girl glaring at me defiantly, her eyes strangely tinged with sadness as I sent her to her death into the crashing waves below. _Who are you? Whose daughter or sister? What were you doing there?_ She took the answers with her to a watery grave. This last wraith fades from sight.

"_Come forth, my children. I have great hopes of you…"_ Commanding and imperious, the voice of the Empress rings out from my memories as she summoned Mirka and me to approach her throne. The words echo in my head.

A strange wrenching pain stabs my heart. That voice is a ghost of the past. It hits me. The Empress is dead. Our Mother is dead. We have been orphaned. As to many of her courtiers, our Mother is a distant enigma to me. Yet I feel that I have lost something irreplaceably dear to me.

The throne is empty, and waiting. _What are you waiting for? Why do you hesitate? _I have come too far, there is no turning back. I step forward. The throne is beckoning me…

I hear footsteps behind me. _Radu?

* * *

_

**Author's Notes:**

The starting quote is also from Shakespeare's Macbeth, one of the plays I studied for my literature class (and my favourite). One of my favourite scenes is the banquet where Banquo's ghost shows up.

I am trying to link all the POVs into a somewhat coherent web. It was a bit of a challenge trying to reconcile Asta's kindly Uncle with the treason-plotting Duke of Tigris. I figure there had to be some trigger to set him on that path. Basically, I think of him as a person who will use any means to achieve what he believes is the greater good, even if it means sacrificing his own peace of mind. I mean, killing a little girl? Cold-bloodedly ordering the murder of a colleague? I let Mirka and Suleyman be in the same age group, possibly classmates in the Academy.


	10. Mirka

Disclaimer: Trinity Blood and its characters do not belong to me. This fanfic consists of monologues by the characters at their most alone. Not in chronological order. May contain spoilers for the anime. Rated for potential dark and mature themes.

I have referred to Mirka Fortuna in an earlier installment as steel cloaked in silk… please read and review if she is really like this.

* * *

**Mirka: Steel in Silk**

_When the wind blows across the sea  
__Hear this song and remember  
__Soon you will be home with me  
__Once upon a December_

I take care to ensure the veil sits securely on my head. It will never do to have my identity exposed during the procession. The visitation by the pale-haired man earlier has unsettled me. How had he slipped in through Baybars' guard? When I brought it up to her, she only laughed and assured me everything was alright. The visitor meant us no harm. I am worried. Somewhere out there, my only grandchild is alone, hunted by the Empire… You try telling me not to worry. I recall the day she chose Ion for the mission…

"_WHAT? But he is only a child!" No, not Ion, he is too inexperienced for such a hazardous mission… _

"_Relax, Mirka. Ion will not be alone. Barvon will be accompanying him." She took my hands in hers and looked up into my eyes. "You know he has to grow up someday, we all do."_

I thought Radu could be trusted. I was so wrong. Our sources in Cartago notified us regarding the recent developments there. My poor Ion, wounded, foully betrayed by his childhood friend and forced to throw himself on the mercies of Terrans, a race he considers inferior. Our Empress assigned the Duchess of Kiev to protect Ion and the emissaries from the Vatican. Will Astaroshe be sufficient to protect my grandchild against further harm? She is forever careering from one disaster to another with her quick temper. And Ion had slipped out to seek Mimar, and to chance upon his murder… this is really too much for one so young…

I want my grandson home and safe.

I hear the fanfare. Time for the old charade. I never dreamed I would one day be attending my own funeral. Guess what? That's exactly what today's procession is about. The Empress will pay her respects to late Head of the Secret Service. I see Suleyman and Radu standing off to the side. Murderers and traitors! How dare they even show their faces today? They should be impaled on stakes and left to dry in the sun, like a historical Romanian prince was fond of doing to traitors. They have not the least shred of remorse about what happened last night.

Naturally, the true Empress was never in any real danger physically. The shock was mostly emotional. She was shaking like a leaf when she got back and not from the cold of the seawater either. Suleyman, you broke our mother's heart. I clench my fists helplessly. _Not now, Mirka._ I shelve my fantasies about inflicting a suitably long drawn out punishment on them.

As imperiously as I can in my condition, I walk to the carriage and get onto it. Baybars bellows out the order to move out. With a dreadful slowness, the procession crawls out onto the streets. _Where is Astaroshe?_ Her absence has been noted and raised many whispers in the morning assembly. I want Ion back home with me. _Soon, Mirka, soon._ I try to soothe my fears. I allow my mind to drift into the past as I look out through the snowy whiteness of my veil.

* * *

He came into my care as a month-old infant on a cold December day. Loyal Mimar brought him from Warsaw where my daughter Iona had been living after she left home. That day was bitterly cold. Snow fell in heavy flurries. My servant was half-frozen when he stumbled in. The baby in the pathetic bundle of rags he cradled so pale and still, I thought it was already dead. I simply took it out of its sodden rags, wrapped it in warm blankets and held the poor thing close until it started bawling. 

Don't ask me when Iona married or who she married. I was too caught up with work to pay any attention to my only child. We parted on very bad terms and she took off without a backwards glance. When the trouble started in Warsaw, I sent my Terran servant there to get my daughter to safety. When he found her, Iona was mortally wounded by a silver bullet. She lived only long enough to hand the baby in her arms to Mimar. She never even told us the name of her child.

I named the little one after his mother. He resembled her a good deal. I was a bit disappointed the baby's a boy. The Fortuna line had always been a matriarchal one due to the special burden entrusted to its daughters for centuries. Also, a little granddaughter to lavish all the attention I neglected to give my daughter on would be nice. I have not decided how I am going to let Ion in on the big secret about the Empress and the duty of the Fortuna heirs. Somehow, I don't think he would like the idea of cross-dressing…

It was always Grandmama and Ion, until I got the Barvon boy to be his companion. It was better for Ion to have a playmate his age. Maybe I have sheltered him too much. I have to admit, Ion was a bit sulky when he received the orders to contact the cardinal. It took a lot of coaxing before he would leave for Cartago. Ion always had a poor opinion of Terrans.

Who could blame him, considering Terrans probably killed his mother? However, I have spoken with him about this on many occasions. There are good Terrans, like Mimar who risked his life to save him, just as there are bad Methuselahs who defy our Empress' will. Still, he never had much patience with poor Mimar or the Terrans we employed in the mansion. On hindsight, there were times I really ought to have bent him over my knee and spanked him. Guess they were right about me spoiling him.

"_An eye for an eye makes everyone blind, Mirka,"_ She told me on the many occasions she gave out lenient sentences to those pathetic rebels my people flushed out of the woodwork. The Empress is a wise one, indeed. I respect her enough to put aside whatever grudges I may harbour over my daughter's death… if anything should happen to Ion, will I be able to do the same?

* * *

"RADU!" A rage-crazed voice broke my reverie. No! I froze as the drama unfolds before me. Baybars shouts orders as the procession halts. I can only watch in silence as Ion's futile attack on Radu is thwarted. _Ion, you shouldn't have done that. Stay hidden and safe._ It is too late for that. Is Astaroshe with him? No, he is alone. Where is that girl? Radu incapacitates Ion and forces him to the ground. _No, no, no…Stop,_ I want to scream but my voice is paralysed. 

Radu is readying his sword for the death blow. There is a brief exchange of words, Is Radu mocking him? Ion retorts angrily but I fail to hear his words. He glares at his soon-to-be executioner without flinching. A flash of silver… NO! I nearly leap to my feet. Only the years of iron discipline kept me seated. He missed? Ion is still alive. The sword only grazed him. I can't believe my eyes. At that range… was it some prick of his conscience? Ion appears as confused as I am.

"Your Excellency!" A red-haired girl is running towards the commotion. The Vatican's emissary? The guards intercept her. Ion tries to run to her aid but is intercepted by Radu. _He can't fight. If he resists, he will be killed. Someone must help them._ The Empress' voice. _My voice._ I take a deep breath and speak in the altered voice I use as her double.

"Enough!" Everyone freezes. "Take them back to the palace. I will question them, _personally_…" I stress the last word. My heart is thumping wildly. _Ion, hang on. _

"Yes, your majesty." As they always do, they bow before me, Radu included. He tries to protest and I silence him with a thinly-veiled threat. "Any problems, Luxor?" He backs off.

Ion is screaming, trying to stop me from continuing to the mausoleum. _Quiet! Hold your tongue. Every word you speak places you in danger!_ I wince inside as a guard dealt him a forceful punch to the stomach. My beloved grandson goes limp and quiet. The guards take my unconscious grandchild and the girl into custody. Baybars bellows the order to continue. I must see this charade through for our plan to succeed. I force myself to look ahead and away from the prisoners.

_Hang on… no matter what happens, stay alive…

* * *

_

**Author's Notes:**

The song at the start is taken from the animated movie Anastasia. Ion does not appear to have any family aside from his grandmother and he appears very close to her. She's the first person he wants to see when he returned to Byzantinum. Most grandparents dote on their grandchildren. In fact, there are many instances where seemingly feeble old folks find the strength and courage to take on dangerous animals or people threatening their grandkids.

The Romanian prince Mirka was referring to is an actual historical figure and supposedly the inspiration for Bram Stroker's Dracula, Vlad, the Impaler, or Dracula (Son of the Devil) as he is known to his foes. He's a Romanian folk hero even though he has a reputation for cruelty. I let the Fortuna line be a matriarchal one, given the nature of Mirka's royal duties as Seth's double.

I read from Wikipedia that in the novel, her character is quite different from the one in the anime. She is also known as the Keeper of the Secret History.


	11. Caterina

Disclaimer: Trinity Blood and its characters do not belong to me. This fanfic consists of monologues by the characters at their most alone. Not in chronological order. May contain spoilers for the anime. Rated for potential dark and mature themes.

I just realized that this is what Catholics refer to as the Holy Week. So it seems appropriate(?) to turn the focus back to the Vatican with Cardinal Caterina. You readers must be getting tired of Methuselah POVs anyhow.

In 21st century reality, there are no women in leading positions in the Vatican. There are no female Catholic priests, much less cardinals. Even if the Vatican of the Trinity Blood universe had equal opportunities for both men and women, it must have taken a very strong character for Caterina to achieve what she did. I have not read the novels, so I have no idea if Caterina did leave the Vatican.

* * *

**Caterina: White Roses in Gethsemane **

God forgive me, but my brother Francesco can go to hell for the damned blind fool he is! It took all of my self-control not to scream when Brother Petros of the Inquisition and Sister Paula escorted me to my chambers. Placing me under house-arrest indeed. He is such a jackass. I had to order my men not to do anything foolish at that point. Francesco has my agents all watched. Great, I can imagine Dandelion heckling the Inquisition and getting a trashing for his pains. Or maybe my sympathies are misplaced. Reliable old Vaclav will keep him in check. Wouldn't you, Vaclav? I peer out the window and see it there. Tall and black, standing in St. Peter's Square, the obelisk dear Uncle sent us as a peace offering.

I am right. That obelisk is the danger, a ticking time bomb in the very heart of the holy city. We know it. They will not let me see my agents. Will they be able to convince them of the danger before it is too late?

Not all my agents are under surveillance. Esther, the rookie is probably keeping a vigil at the chapel, praying for Sister Noelle. She is too inexperienced to be of much use, isn't she? Hugue is probably still on the road from Spain. Abel? Where are you? You surely weren't serious about leaving AX, aren't you? How are we going to continue without you? You have always been there…

I should've been more cautious. _Dominus Canes_, the other name for the Inquisition is the Hounds of God. And Francesco is the biggest bloodhound of them all, forever trying to find some chink in my armour, some flaw he could use against me. I fear I have handed dear Francesco a golden excuse this time to disband AX and have me stripped of my title. Then my brother and his hounds will have the free run of the holy city. Not a comforting thought.

What will happen to them? Will they honour the agreement I made with Dandelion? He has only twenty years more to go. He has truly reformed. All he wants is to be a good father to his daughter. I hope to pull enough strings to allow him to see his girl soon. No, I suppose if AX gets disbanded, Leon will be thrown back into prison to serve out his life sentence of 1000 years. What about Kate? I cannot imagine the Iron Maiden II under Inquisition command. And Tres? To be scrapped as junk? And Noelle's sacrifice would be for nothing… I will not stand for it. If they want to disband my AX, I will fight them all the way.

God give me strength to trust my men. Vaclav is not one to sit and twiddle his thumbs waiting for doom to befall Rome. I don't know if they have them detained. I pray not. William is intelligent. Surely he has found a way to neutralize the threat. Has Hugue arrived yet? He was in Barcelona when he last contacted Iron Maiden. Has he found anything we can use to save Rome from a similar fate? Twisting my lace handkerchief in my hands, I stride over to settee. A vase of wilting white roses sat on the side table next to the tea tray. The lemon meringue on its plate did not look appealing to me at all.

With a sigh, I pour myself a cup of tea of Sister Kate's lavender tea. I can swear to its effectiveness for calming my nerves. I sip at the tepid tea. Neither Vaclav nor Tres is around to help brew me a fresh pot. I close my eyes. Sister Paula can be heard pacing the corridor outside but I am not going to ask an Inquisitor to bring me a fresh pot of hot water. A few sips later, I collect my thoughts.

I do not have any means of contacting my people. All I can do now is to have faith in them. Trust William's brainpower, Vaclav's resourcefulness, Tres' firepower, Leon's guts and dumb luck. Don't forget Hugue's propensity for showing up when he is most needed… Sister Kate should be working on trying to locate Abel. Maybe she and Esther can talk him into bucking up.

My heart sinks at the memory of him surrendering his gun and holster, turning and walking away from me and AX. Poor Abel. His spirit must be crushed by Noelle's tragic death. Earlier, I may have berated him for being a coward, for breaking his promise to me. The truth is I am no longer the little girl who needed his protection. Our roles have reversed. I often find myself bailing him out of trouble like a mother with a wayward child. Still, this time I was unable to heal his broken spirit…

Someone is knocking, no, pounding on my door. Francesco has new orders regarding my house arrest, obviously. I hope it is not the Inquisition cells. I cannot abide rats.

* * *

I have been ordered to the basilica for reflection. I give a quick glance at the AX building as we marched across the square. For a moment, I think I glimpse a face at a window. Vaclav? Leon? It may be a simple trick of the light. It is a bright afternoon. A flock of birds soars across the cloudless sky. 

_See the magpies flying high,  
__They tell your fortune in the sky  
__One is for sorrow  
__Two is for joy…_

Funny how that childhood rhyme pops to mind. I used to count birds with Mama when I was a little girl. We used to sit on the balcony on those lazy summer days and watch the sky. Mama was often too ill to go out into the gardens, so we simply watched the birds flying by amid the bittersweet scent of blooming white roses. _What is the number for a miracle, Mama?_ I count seven. How appropriate. _Seven for a secret, not to be told…_

Francesco may slam this as pagan superstition. However, he has not experienced what I did. Like most of the Vatican, he has no idea of the truth about Crusniks, Contra Mundi or the Orden. All he sees is the unending conflict between vampires and humans that he takes upon himself to perpetuate. He is that stubborn. If he knew the secret I harboured all this time…

The inside of the basilica is cool and dark, another world from the bright day outside. The basilica of St Peter's. This building has miraculously survived the flames of the Armageddon. If you look up at the ceiling, you can still make out the faded outlines of a painting of the Heavens. Under this floor lie the bones of the Apostle Peter, the first Pope. May he watch over and guide his current successor. I wish Alessandro has more backbone at times. If he could stand up to Francesco for once, maybe I wouldn't be so worried about Francesco seizing control of the Church.

They would expect me to repent. I kneel piously in the middle of the large annex. I reach for my rosary beads. The beads are cool and soothing to my gloved hands. My mother gave them to me. I imagine her smiling down at me from Heaven. They say I take after her. I know better. Mama was weak, not just physically from her illness. I cannot afford to be weak. I stopped being a child that blood-soaked night. Abel, my silver-haired knight, had saved me from those vampires who killed my mother but he cannot cope with the likes of Uncle and Francesco. I fought my own battles. This time will be no different.

The empire has sent out her tentacles, seeking the possibility of negotiating peace. I am grateful they have sounded me out instead of Francesco. The notion is appealing but the difficulties huge. One slip on my part and I'm done in the Vatican. My reputation and standing will never recover… Maybe it is too late for that. I can imagine those senile coots in the College of Cardinals questioning my sanity over yesterday's fiasco.

It doesn't really matter, if we fail to stop Uncle's plot. There will not be a Vatican left when all of Rome is reduced to rubble. God, please protect the city from harm… I close my eyes and pray fervently. I cannot rely on a silver-haired, black-winged angel to come to the rescue all the time.

My knees start to ache. How long has it been? I have lost track of all time. Is it time for the evening Mass already? I hear footsteps approaching. _Is that you, Francesco? Come to pass your sentence on me?_ My heart sinks even as I struggle to my feet. _They say it is darkest before the dawn._ I must keep hoping, because, _hope is the last to die.

* * *

_

**Author's Notes:**

This one is based on the anime's Silent Noise arc. The magpie counting rhyme is based on a childhood rhyme. I do not know if the basilica in Trinity Blood is the St Peter's Basilica. I hope I managed to bring out Caterina's strength of character as well as her fragility, frustration and conflict at this crucial time. Dominus Canes is Latin for God's Hounds. This is actually taken from history. The Inquisition was part of the Dominican order during the Middle Ages.

Please read and review.

Gethsemane – the Biblical garden where Jesus prayed after the Last Supper.


	12. Kate

Disclaimer: Trinity Blood and its characters do not belong to me. This fanfic consists of monologues by the characters at their most alone. Not in chronological order. May conain spoilers for the anime. Rated for potential dark and mature themes.

Who or what exactly is Kate? AI? Or is she a flesh and blood human who commands the Iron Maiden II battleship? In the anime and manga, we see her as a very human hologram. It is also hinted that she and William shared a past. From Wikipedia, it is written that the novel states her physical body is in a coma but her consciousness is part of the battleship system. The result of an Orden attack.

* * *

**Kate: Scent of Lavender Tea**

Maybe this is a dream. I suppose even I sleep, in a way. I cannot believe what has happened in the past few weeks. Our youngest AX member has been crowned queen of Albion a few hours ago. Esther Blanchett is the queen of the nation of Albion, the grandchild of the late Queen Bridget IX. She is my queen. The nation is in open celebration. I drift away from the crowds of well-wishers and out onto a balcony. Flowers bloom in profusion as if joining the celebrations. I can almost smell their perfume.

Hugue is actually present in the ballroom, not tramping half-way across Europe on his ongoing quest. He's cornered by the cocktail bar by an extremely persistent baroness. Thank goodness Leon's going over to help him out. Abel is absent but the Duchess says that it is no cause for alarm. I do not need to try and locate him. He has probably taken some time off to sort out his thoughts. Who wouldn't if they have been killed and then resurrected? I can almost empathize with him.

It's been many years since I left Albion for Rome. This is my motherland. I was born in York but spent most of my girlhood in Londinium. I moved here when I was two. I lived with my tea merchant father and schoolteacher mother in a comfortable neighbourhood a few miles from the Thames and Buckingham. I was an only child. My parents instilled a sense of discipline and common sense in me to last a lifetime. Every day, I used to pass the palace on my way to school and back. I picture myself, a schoolgirl with pigtails, strolling past those imposing gates. Occasionally, I would stop to observe the changing of the guard.

There was another child who walked past the palace gates about the same time I did. We passed each other on occasion, though we did not attend the same school. He attended St George's. I attended St Margaret's Girls', right next to St George's. The second of five children born to an industrialist father and a peeress, his school pals called him Willie. He was a grimy-faced boy who like boys his age, could not seem to keep clean…

* * *

"Reminiscing, Katie?" Willie now drifts up to me, having escaped the attentions of his one-time colleagues from the Albion University and his relations. I nod. With a smile, he places his hand on the balustrade next to my insubstantial one.

"We used to past the gates every morning and afternoon… but we never spoke, at least until that day I test-flew my plane on the way to school…"

"Willie, you flew that toy plane of yours up my skirts."

"You broke the plane stomping on it with your boots. It was an exact miniature replica of a World War II Spitfire, possibly the only remaining model from the pre-Armageddon… My mother chewed me out for tinkering with a family heirloom and antique. Oh excuse me, Kate. I believe Cousin Dominic is waving to me."

He returns inside where he is swiftly swallowed up by the crowd. I have no surviving kin in Albion since my mother passed away ten years ago. I reach out for a sprig of lavender and smile sadly as my gloved hand passes through the flowers. I used to harvest flowers from my garden for my mother's special teas. Lavender and camomile soothes the nerves and eases the mind. Peppermint and honey for the throat and stomach. I can almost hear her voice instructing me on their properties and how to brew the teas.

That voice had slowly faded as the years passed. Mother went into a decline after my father drowned in a boating accident on the Thames. When I last saw her alive, she was barely speaking and did not acknowledge me.

I have not tasted any of my teas since that unfortunate incident that forced me into my current post as a battleship commander. I only have the word of my colleagues that my herbal cures are still as effective and my teas still as refreshing. I attended the Albion University and my research interest was teas. I never expected to be become an Albion knight for my work with teas when I was nineteen. At twenty, I chose the Church. I started off as a novice assigned to wait on Cardinal Caterina. I never expected to join AX or to meet Willie again.

I have little recollection of being knighted by the late Queen. Was it for my research that brought about a new blend of tea? Did my mother attend the ceremony? I have no memory of that day, though I have seen the photos and read the news articles that William found for me. Why did I choose to become a nun soon after being knighted? There are some questions even good old William cannot answer. Did I suddenly find my direction in life in the Church? Or was it something else?

I have blanks in my memory. I have little memory of the events that resulted in my current appointment. William reassured me it was normal to suffer some form of amnesia due to the trauma. I still don't think it is normal to have my consciousness programmed into a battleship. I can't recall having any prior education in electronics, communications or piloting an airship. When I asked William, he said he input the instructions as part of the battleship's mainframe.

It is no longer important now. AX is the life I know and love. I have my comrades, my duty and the goal of peace Lady Caterina dreams of. Esther's coronation is a step in that direction isn't it? I spy Lord Virgil and Lady Vanessa in the crowd. Once, they won't be allowed to attend such functions as Methuselahs. Lord Virgil's attending the late Queen's funeral had raised many eyebrows in Westminster. I do listen to Albion Radio in addition to seven other radio channels, mostly news events that I keep track of and alert the Cardinal if anything is out of the ordinary.

_Who is Kate Scott, codenamed Iron Maiden?_ Is my soul working for AX even as my body lies in a coma in a sterile hospital ward? Or am I an artificial entity pieced together from the scattered memories of a woman named Kate Scott? _Who am I?_ Sometimes, I envy Tres. At least he is certain about who he is.

I do have snatches of memories of being held by my father or walking with my mother through a spring garden. I can still recall the fragrance of Mother's lavender tea or the aroma of her freshly-baked ginger snaps. I recall the sweet tanginess of a cup of fruit tea and the moist taste of apple strudel. I recall the soft fur of my pet kitten as she lazed in my lap and the coarse cloth of Willie's collar in my hands as I screamed and shook him for sending his toy plane up my skirts…

I laugh as I recall myself threatening to pound young Willie to the ground although Willie was a good head taller than me, older and bigger. I was such a little spitfire then. Were we on the same debate team in university? Or were we on opposing teams? I seem to recall he was in the technologies faculty… We must be on opposing teams since the debate teams were formed by faculty. Lord, we seem to have argued on many occasions, I can't keep track.

Did he accidentally blow up his lab in his final year and blew in the windows of the tea research lab next door to his? Was that why he left the university? It seems such a pity if he did. I draw a blank there. William has a great mind. I will grant him that compliment. He is more reliable now, apart from the occasional burst of creative energy that often results in a broken window or a smoke-stained room and me ticking him off. He has matured a lot. I don't know why he joined AX… I feel a bond with him somehow. Was it because he saved my life in a way? I cannot say. What will happen to me? Will I emerge from my coma one day? I do not have any answers, perhaps he would.

* * *

"William?" I teleport myself to where he is the conservatory. He is smoking his pipe alone. "Do you suppose that one day I will wake up?" I feel a bit awkward. I am awake, aren't I? He sucks on his pipe and puffs a smoke ring. "I can't say in all honesty. Back then, it was a gamble," he confesses as he watches the smoke dissipate. "I have no idea how things would work out. Sorry, Kate." He sounds so upset, I feel sorry for putting him in a spot.

Outside, the band is starting on a melody. "It's alright, William, I guess some things we just have to see…" I give him a smile. "Let's go join the others." I resist the urge to take his hand. I can't do that as a hologram.

"Not more dancing I hope, that always gives me a headache," he protests like a reluctant schoolboy even as he makes his way to the door, grinning broadly.

"Maybe you need a cup of my lavender tea." I laugh before teleporting myself out to the ballroom.

_Que sera sera_

_Whatever will be will be _

_The future's for us to see _

_Que sera sera

* * *

_

**Author's Notes:**

It is mentioned that Kate and William have a common past as Albion knights in the anime. And Kate telling William off after his invention backfires… She appears very docile but she gets quite fierce with William in that episode. Read and review?


	13. William

Disclaimer: Trinity Blood and its characters do not belong to me. This fanfic consists of monologues by the characters at their most alone. Not in chronological order. May conain spoilers for the anime. Rated for potential dark and mature themes.

More on the Albion knights. I read off Wikipedia that William had a prior acquaintance with Isaak back in the Albion University lost and his fiancée in an accident (that also resulted in him being expelled from the university). Minor bloodshed ahead.

* * *

**William: Ballads and Blues **

_I was dancing with my darling  
__The night they were playing  
__The beautiful Tennessee Waltz  
__When an old friend I happened to see  
__I introduced him to my loved one  
__And while they were dancing  
__My friend stole my sweetheart from me_

I look up from my work as the voice on the radio crooned the ballad. Big mistake. The screwdriver slips and scratches my thumb, tearing through the fabric of my glove and into flesh. I give a yelp of pain, tear off my bloodied glove and run the cool tap water over my bleeding thumb._ "Not again, William…"_ Her voice rings in my mind.

She used to bandage my injuries whenever I got hurt back in the research labs of the Albion University. Dark-haired, brown-eyed Rose Lancaster,the only daughter of the Albion University Chancellor and an Albionian duchess, she was also my fiancée. She used to work in the tea research lab next to mine with Kate.

Whenever I injured myself, I would drop by their lab to ask for bandages. Kate would simply hand me the bandages. She would also lecture me the need to keep a well-stocked first-aid kit in my own lab. Rose would simply give a resigned sigh and treat my injuries. I never saw the need to keep a first-aid box in my lab. Why should I if I could enjoy the company of my Rose on the pretext of having a cut bandaged?

I remove my hand from the water and turn off the tap. The bleeding has slowed but it is a deep scratch. _"Antiseptic wash."_ Remembering her advice, I open a small bottle of iodine and proceed to gingerly clean the wound. It hurts but not as much as the memories the ballad's lyrics brought back...

* * *

It was the New Year Ball thrown by the Chancellor. The sparkling champagne was flowing and the band playing. I, William Walter Wordsworth, danced with my fiancée, Rose, to the strains of the Tennessee Waltz. I had been newly knighted then. Rose had quit the research team then in preparation for our impeding wedding. On hindsight, Rose was not suited to the rigours of research work. She preferred socializing to long hours slaving over data.

I saw Isaac Butler, a fellow researcher, looking decidedly awkward in sea of finely-dressed guests. He was from a middle-class Albionian family. His suit was almost tacky compared to the other guests. Isaac worked in the basement lab. He hardly left the facility. He always kept to himself.

We drifted over to him. Soon we, or rather Rose was chatting happily with him. I had to leave the ball thanks to a minor incident in my lab. I forgot to turn a generator off. It overheated, blew up and blew in the windows of Kate's lab. Kate was yelling at me over the phone over how her lab was in shambles thanks to my carelessness. I went back to the facility and Rose danced away from me...

* * *

"William, let's call off the wedding." _Why, Rose?_ I had always expected to marry Rose Lancaster. My life had been meticulously planned and plotted out by my parents. Rose and I were introduced to each other at a house party by our mothers. We were engaged after a proper period of equally proper courtship of walks in the park, nights at the opera and afternoon teas. Her eyes were serious when she continued. "William, I don't want you to marry me just because you feel it is your duty to your family. Tell me truthfully, do you love me?" 

My tongue froze. In shock, I could not manage those words. In that little café on that February afternoon, my world had turned upside down. Misunderstanding my silence, she rattled on.

"William. I have realized that. I like you, as a friend. But I do not love you that way. I am sorry, William. I can't go through with the wedding just because everyone else wants to see us married. Let's part as friends." With those words, she wrenched the engagement ring off her finger and placed it on the table in front of me. Utterly stupefied, I stared at it.

"Let's postpone the wedding instead. You will have time to think it over. Please, Rose, be reasonable." I gripped her wrist. The other patrons were starting to stare at us.

"I am being reasonable, William," she pulled free of my grasp.

"Is there someone else, Rose?" I had heard rumours about Isaac escorting Rose to the opera on those nights when my work kept me busy. An ugly thought formed itself in my mind. "Is it Butler?"

"In fact, yes. I think I may be in love with Isaac Butler." She walked out, possibly in a fit of pique.

* * *

I threw myself into my research, telling myself to forget Rose. I can't forget her, not even now. On the seventh day, I received a type-written note slipped under my door. It was from Rose. She asked me to meet her in the university's botany greenhouse. I went at the appointed time, smoking a pipe to hide my nervousness. Instead I met Kate. Her lab had moved to a separate building after her recent knighthood. Needless to say, she was more than pleased to have her plants away from the minor explosions that occasionally threatened them. 

"William, what are you doing here standing Rose up? She went to your lab to talk like you begged her to on the phone. I had to talk her into going, so go to her!" she fairly snapped at me. "And this is a no smoking zone. The plants here must be kept from all pollutants."

"What? But I never called…" My words were drowned out by an ear-shattering blast. There was a huge explosion in my lab. The facility was razed to the ground. Rose was dead. My research was over. I was expelled from the university. I was charged with negligence but acquitted for lack of evidence. The cause of the blast remains unknown to this day. For many months afterwards, I remained in a dazed state, alternating between episodes of feverish activity in my apartments and drunken stupor on the streets. One day I stumbled into a certain cardinal. "A fine mind like yours is a sad thing to waste, Sir Wordsworth," she recruited me into AX. The rest is history.

* * *

The ache of losing Rose is still there though it has receded into the background. But at times like this, it resurfaces sharp and raw. I inspect my bandaged thumb. It is a piece of clumsy work, swathed up to four times its normal size. 

Kate appears in front of me. "Lady Caterina wishes to know when Tres is due for his next inspect… Goodness, what happened this time, William? You look as though you've hit your thumb with a hammer," she giggles at the sight of my ridiculously bandaged thumb. "I will get Sister Esther to help re-bandage it properly."

"Thanks, Kate."

Her hologram flickers as she tries to control her mirth. "Something on your mind, William?" she asks, still trying to stifle her giggles.

"Nothing, Kate. Why don't you ask Esther to come over and help? I will need an assistant to help me with Tres' inspection at three-thirty." Kate has no memory of Rose's death after her own accident. I see no point in reminding her of it. She must have been as badly affected by it as I was. Kate bows before fading out of sight. I fumble with my pipe and manage to light it. The radio is still playing _Afternoon Ballads. _

_Rose, Rose, I love you  
__With an aching heart…_

I take a puff on it, listening to the ballad on the radio and thinking of happier times in Albion spent with Rose. I have thought over her words to me. She was right. I didn't love her back then as a lover, more as a friend. It was only after her death did I realize the depth of my true feelings. _I love you, Rose Lancaster._

_

* * *

_**Author's Notes:**

Please review. The ballads are old favourites of mine. I like oldies, country and folk ballads.

Er, folks, I would like an honest opinion here in light of certain happenings over the past week. Does anyone find my recent works disturbing enough to go for a little chat with the pastoral care unit? Or maybe I should be asking this after I am done with the Rosenkruez guys...


	14. Vanessa

Disclaimer: Trinity Blood and its characters do not belong to me. This fanfic consists of monologues by the characters at their most alone. Not in chronological order. May contain spoilers for the anime. Rated for potential dark and mature themes.

Just to reassure everyone, I am not going off my rocker as I thought in the last chapter. The wierd bit of writing I did outside that triggered alarm bells was nothing more than me releasing steam over my exasperating kid brother (it involved an industrial mincer turning him into meatballs and burger patties) after a particularly bad quarrel.

Virgil and Vanessa are siblings. However, siblings don't always understand each other…

* * *

**Vanessa: Starry, Starry Sky**

When Moses led the Hebrews to freedom from Egypt, he had by his side, his brother Aaron and his sister Miriam. Lucky chap. No one said it would be easy. It is ambitious and blatantly so. The logistics involved are huge. _Every Ghetto man, woman and child. Even their pets. No one will be left behind,_ I promise myself. _No matter what. _

_Please let it be so…_

Virgil Walsh, I sounded you out again over dinner and you fobbed me off saying you need to see to that old woman's funeral. Brother! Bridget is dead. The grandest funeral will not bring her back. I hated Bridget. If only she had not invited me to that Christmas party, maybe I would have remained ignorant of the starry night sky.

I recall that night. I had just come of age. That woman invited us to a small Christmas gathering, just a few close friends. You danced with her while the young Prince Gilbert danced with his cousin. While you were waltzing, I stepped out onto the balcony and looked up. I saw it then. Who ever knew there were diamonds that grace the velvet sky? Tiny pinpricks of pure light in an ocean of inky blackness. All the poets did not do justice to its beauty. The sheer freedom of the night sky… I cried.

You found me later, still weeping. I remember your kind, comforting words and your strong arms as you carried me into back into the manor. They had a room set aside with a large bed for me to rest in. You stroked my hair as if I was a little girl. I asked to leave and you took me home.

I once looked up to you, brother. You failed me, no, all of us, every Methuselah man, woman and child who holds Sir Virgil Walsh in high esteem. We are pathetic souls, trapped in a large cage underground, never knowing what true moonlight is like…

"Nessa?" Patrick calls out to me. I was lost for a while in the past. "The weapons have been brought in. Silver bullets." His brow furrows. We need those bullets to deal with the small Ghetto security forces under Virgil's command. He puts aside the paperwork on the table. We should not linger too long. My brother's people may decide to do an impromptu inspection of this often deserted part of the Ghetto.

"Good work, Paddy." I lean over the table, meeting his lips with mine. He makes a sound of protest but his hands were already tugging at the zipper at my throat. I need this. We are alone. James, Sutton and the others are out. "Make love to me, Paddy…" I purr into his ear as my hands go to his belt buckle. Soon, we are kissing passionately with him pinning me against a wall. It feels so good, a welcome distraction from all those niggling doubts…

"Peter! Carlise! Stop playing already! Peter! Please come out!"

I freeze with my jacket undone, haler-top pulled up and my lover's hand cupping my breast. _Oh shit!_ The last thing I need is for Wendy or any of her little playmates to chance on me in this position. I disentangle myself from Patrick's arms as Wendy's voice comes closer. "Aw, Nessa, they wouldn't come in …" Patrick protests. His ardour has been aroused but mine is effectively quenched.

"No. Not now," I emphasize my point by zipping up my jacket and shoving him aside. Patrick mutters something angrily under his breath before stomping off. It may have been 'bitch' or 'slut' but I am past caring. At least he did not try forcing me like some of my past partners did. I do like Patrick and I would hate to hurt him.

I do not hear Wendy's voice. She must have disappeared down one of the many winding tunnels in this part. I am alone in this forgotten control room with only the hum of the generator as my companion. I close my eyes and let the gentle hum calm my nerves.

Wendy and the children had adapted well enough to the confines of Ghetto life. They must surely miss the open air, the green grass, flowers and night sky. They willingly changed all this for a tenacious safety in this underground world of isolation. Most children born in this world have no idea of such things. Brother brought me a small rose tree in a pot once, a gift from Above. It died after a week. The canary fared slightly better in its little cage. It died eventually.

The artificial light in the Ghetto does not mimic the soft moonlight I have seen above when I sneak out. It is a harsh brightness, only less deadly than the sunlight that is the bane of our race. We have no need for soft lights in a place powered by technology and engineering. Not everyone is a computer engineer. I prefer the soft strains of piano music that you create in your free time. You knew, didn't you? You are a talented pianist, but you only indulged your hobby for the sole purpose of programming the music box you gave her. I hardly hear you play the piano after that. You were too busy.

* * *

I return to the residential sector, cramped apartments cheek by jowl. Children chase each other laughing and screeching along treacherously narrow corridors and steep stairs. A little one stops to bob a curtsey before taking off like a bird after her playmates. I catch her by the back of her rompers as she nearly takes a headlong dive down the stairs. Her mother thanks me and scoops up her bawling child. She is lucky. Most children live in homes where they are packed thirty to a dorm, since their parents are too busy slogging on the production lines to care for them. I spent time in such a home whenever his work took Brother away for months at a stretch. He still spends weeks in his factories away from home. 

With the booming population, we are getting a tad crowded. Virgil has been looking at the feasibility of expanding the residential sector into some of the older, unused parts of the Ghetto. We don't need more cells…

"_Starry, starry night.  
Paint your palette blue and grey,  
Look out on a summer's day,  
With eyes that know the darkness in my soul."  
_

A solitary busker strums his guitar and croons about the stars and a sky he probably has no idea of. His soul's longing is in his song. We are not machines. We have emotions, feelings. We yearn to be free. Can't you hear our silent desire to be free of this yoke?

_  
"Now I understand what you tried to say to me,  
How you suffered for your sanity,  
How you tried to set them free.  
They would not listen, they did not know how.  
Perhaps they'll listen now."_

Sure, he's as deaf as a doorpost. All he has eyes and ears for his Queen. He can't see beyond the bloody goddamned status quo those above imposed on us. Even now that she is dead, he still clings to the whole notion of the Ghetto, our prison. I know he will fight me to protect his own beliefs, as I will fight him to pursue mine. _Can you really put a silver bullet into that person, Vanessa, should it come to that?_ That person who allowed you a glimpse of the world above through a rose bush and a canary?

_Please don't test me, brother. Don't test me…

* * *

**Author's Notes:** _

I get the idea of Vanessa as a rebel, like the teenage girl who is forever defying curfew and hanging out with what her folks deem the wrong crowd. If poor Virgil had any ilking what his kid sister's been up to, I think his sense of propreity will be most sorely offended. I slipped in a near love scene, if things got any hotter, I will need to up the rating.

Please read and review.


	15. Dietrich

Disclaimer: Trinity Blood and its characters do not belong to me. This fanfic consists of monologues by the characters at their most alone. Not in chronological order. May contain spoilers for the anime. Rated for potential dark and mature themes.

I am fascinated by Dietrich's character. Is he really evil through and through as the anime and manga appear to suggest? The way he tells Esther he loves her gives me the heebie-jeebies. Any ideas about what turned our little puppetmaster into the sadist he is? Major hints of child abuse ahead.

* * *

**Dietrich: Nobody's Child**

"_Say this city has ten thousand million souls,  
__Some are living in mansions, some are living in holes;  
__Yet there's no place for us, my dear, yet there's no place for us." _

I hear her voice droning aloud like a broken record as she sits like some countess in her little parlour downstairs reading from her book of poetry, drowning out my screams. All the while, Father grunts and gropes me while pinning me under his bulk. He slobbers lewd nothings into my ears, breathing gin fumes into my face. _Stop, please stop…_ I plead to no avail. I try to push him away as he forcibly rips off my clothes… My limbs feel heavy… That woman must have drugged me… _No, stop…_I tremble as I hear the unmistakable sound of him undoing his belt, feel him force…_ It hurts! NO!_ I scream… BANG!

* * *

I open my eyes to find myself lying on the carpet of Isaak's library. My clothes were still intact, though rumpled by sleep. My head hurt. I rub a sore spot on my skull. It was a bloody nightmare. I had fallen asleep on the couch. The book I had been reading is ruined by claret stains. It was a rare first print too, one of Isaak's. The shattered remains of Isaak's best claret, which I had been indulging myself with earlier, littered the carpet alongside the smashed crystal vase. In my frenzied thrashing, I have knocked over the side table. Mangled roses lay among the shiny shards, red as blood, red as the claret soaking into the red carpet. Red as… 

_Stop, Dietrich, you don't want to go there…_ I force my thoughts away from Esther. I don't want to think of that vixen… Of her red hair, her blue eyes… _Dietrich, enough with that…_ you are starting to sound like a silly schoolboy with a crush. You know what happens when you trust someone, don't you?

* * *

The neighbours used to think Father's exorcising demons from me, like the holy man he is. Those ignoramuses wouldn't think their revered pastor would be screwing his own son. Father always had a fondness for the flesh of young boys. When I was still an infant, my parents had to abandon a fairly profitable existence in Cologne thanks to him groping the choirboys. We hid in that godforsaken village where my father was born. As the local pastor had been resting in the church cemetery for a good many years then, the villagers were more than happy to welcome Father back. We simply moved into the abandoned pastor's house next to the church. 

I hate Father for sodomizing me almost every night. I hate Mother for abandoning me to Father's perversions. I hate those peasants who look to my tormentor as their spiritual leader. I would have liked to describe to them in lurid detail how Father commits incest on the same pews on which their pious bottoms rest every Sunday. I hate all of them.

"Obey your father, Dietrich…" that woman always said. "Do it for Mama, please… that's my little angel…" So like a good little boy, I go to where he waited to fuck me until I am senseless, bruised and bleeding…I was such a naïve little fool.

She never cared about me. She only had eyes for Father, forever trying to win his approval. She was forever craving his attentions and delighted in whenever scraps she was tossed.

Mother and I stuck out like sore thumbs in that remote mountain village. She was the cultured daughter of good family. Mother's accent and looks were different from those of the thick-headed, stocky locals. The other children mocked me for inheriting her looks. Left to my own devices in the house, I stumbled over the dusty volumes of arcane knowledge left behind by Father's predecessor. In that forgotten vault, I learnt about the wires…

* * *

I close my eyes, reliving that fateful day. 

That night I had finally acknowledged that all my prayers for my abuse to stop were in vain. There is no all-merciful God listening. Even if there were, He does not care one bit. I brought a knife when I went to Father but I was too weak. The knife barely scratched him but it was sufficient to drive him into a rage. "You little brat!" he bellowed and threw me against the bedstead. I recall his meaty hands on my neck, choking me into darkness… then I felt them. The wires…I tore out his heart using the sheer force of my mind. It was too easy…

"You devil!" Mother stood at the open door screaming in horror. She had finally been drawn away from her poetry by the commotion. I tore out her heart in the same way as well. A pity, she died too fast for my liking. I then changed my bloodied clothes and strolled over to the church to wait for Father's parishioners to arrive… I wanted to experiment with my new ability, test myself. It was so simple. For a month afterwards, I played with the villagers, killing them off one by one until there were none. The snow before the church porch turned red with blood… On the day I killed my last toy, I met them.

* * *

Lord Cain, he was like an angel of light to me. He smiled and asked me to demonstrate my talent for him and his raven-haired companion. I obliged. I raised my last toy screaming for mercy using my wires and ripped off his limbs one by one. Lord Cain laughed and patted me on the head. 

"_You are a bright boy. Would you like to create a new world with us?" No one had ever praised me like that before…_

"_I would love that, sir." Killing off peasants got kinda boring after a while._

I never felt so happy. So I came into the Orden at the age of seven…

Isaak? I rank him as another amusing toy I whose strings I can pull when I am bored. He always thinks of me as an uncouth peasant boy. Secretly, he would love to throttle me like a chicken and probably drain my blood for supper, but Lord Cain would never let him get away with that. I guess now that Radu's finished with, I can consider playing with Isaak… better not, Lord Cain needs Isaak still…

* * *

"So this is what our little peasant has been up to." Isaak. I can smell cigarette smoke. I open my eyes. He stands in front of me, surveying the damage to his library and tapping his foot in annoyance. 

"Lovely evening at the opera, isn't it, Magician? I believe they are showing _Aida_…" I get to my feet with as much dignity as I can muster. I face him squarely. I don't fear him, even if he is a vampire and my superior.

"I hear you have been harassing certain colleagues …" I smirk at the mention of my latest antics. It is so enjoyable to have them at my mercy.

"Just some minor experiments, sir. Excuse me, I have some work to so to…Good night." I saunter out, leaving behind the mess and a less-than-pleased Isaak. I know he will not call his shadow demons on me since my next mission is coming up. Lord Cain would be most upset if I am unable to perform my mission, wouldn't he?

Lesser members of the Orden politely salute and step aside for me to pass when I encounter them in the hallway. I relish the feel of my power over those weak vampires. This is my home… No, the Orden is not my home. I have no friends or family here, only acquaintances and enemies I have an uneasy truce with. I have no place I can truly belong to._ Igne Natura Renovateur Integra. With fire, we will renew the world._ There will be a place for me in Lord Cain's new world. In His new world, I will find my true salvation.

* * *

I enter my basement workshop and start stitching together one of my Auto-Jaggers. My army of vampire corpses stood ready for my orders, waiting to unleash hell on an unsuspecting people. Oh dear, I must have cut my arm earlier on the broken glass. I had not even noticed the blood staining my sleeve. No big deal… I am not going to die from a small cut like that… 

_Stood on a great plain in the falling snow;  
__Ten thousand soldiers marched to and fro…_

I freeze in mid-stitch as I fancied I hear that bitch's voice reciting her poetry… It is only my imagination. Nothing to fear at all, Dietrich… Still, a shiver runs up my spine.

_Looking for you and me, my dear, looking for you and me.

* * *

_

**Author's Notes:**

The opening and closing verses are from a poem on the Holocaust by W.H. Auden that struck me as a particularly poignant piece.

I did a slight deviation from the usual Dietrich-Isaak fandom. In the anime, there is no reference or hints to the Rosenkruez members' pasts. I seem to get the idea that there is a hierarchy that is led by Cain, followed by Isaak and Dietrich, in that order. Dietrich is a Terran (I think and the only one in the Orden). I don't know how he wound up with the Orden or how he came about his ability. According to Wikipedia, Dietrich was born evil. (?) I prefer to think that he might have been so terribly abused in his childhood that he became warped. I belong to the school of thought that holds that all are born innately good and it is our experiences that shape us.


	16. Ion

Disclaimer: Trinity Blood and its characters do not belong to me. This fanfic consists of monologues by the characters at their most alone. Not in chronological order. May conain spoilers for the anime. Rated for potential dark and mature themes.

This is an insight into Ion's thoughts when he is in the cemetery.

**

* * *

**

Ion: Silent Night

_From a distance, the world is blue and green  
__And the snow capped mountains white  
__From a distance the ocean meets the stream  
__As the eagle takes to flight_

I perch on a moss-covered tombstone, waiting for the first rays of dawn bathe the city below. They call this place the forgotten cemetery. Terran or Methuselah, we have forgotten. Some of the tombstones have fallen over or crumbled from weather and time. Many of the inscriptions were faded and eroded, forgotten memories of an earlier era. When we were children, we played hide-and-seek on these same stones. We watched the sunrise over the sea from the cliffs nearby. _Those were the days, weren't they, my friend?_ Maybe I shouldn't call you that now.

The crickets are silent tonight, a reflection of my desolate thoughts, just as they were on that cold winter night when I came here alone. I was newly-turned then, as Moldova tradition decreed, admitted into the Academy in preparation for future service to the Empress. My classmates teased me when they learnt I had no parents to attend my graduation. They taunted me when they found out I did not know my father's name at all. I fled the Academy and sought refuge here. They sent out a search party for me when I did not return after my lectures. It was Grandmama who found me then just as the cold winter day came up over the horizon. She had been out the whole night on the hills... _Well, she wouldn't be coming here tonight, will she? _

Grandmama stated unequivocally that Ion Fortuna is her legitimate grandson and heir and woe betide anyone who dares to suggest otherwise. That silenced my classmates' taunts for good. Obviously, no one crosses Mirka Fortuna and gets away with it.

* * *

I know my mother's name. Iona Fortuna. They say I take after her in my looks. They are right. I found a photograph of my parents when I was eight. It was sewn into a pocket in the baby blanket I was brought to Byzantinum in. It was a filthy blanket that Grandmama probably would have ordered the servants to burn. I am thankful that they must have forgotten it. It was misplaced in a chest in the attic for me and Radu to stumble across while playing hide and seek. I didn't want Grandmama know because I heard that she threw out every photo and portrait of my mother after my mother left home. I had only that one picture. 

My fair-haired mother smiled out from a smudged, slightly burnt and torn photograph. She was holding the arm of a tall man, my father. His face was hidden in shadow. Radu pointed out that I was probably in the photo as well. My mother's dress did little to conceal the late stages of a pregnancy. On the back of that scrap of photograph was a barely legible line: _"…and wife Iona, Warsaw, Autumn…"_ My father's name had been obliterated by a burn mark.

I used to envy Radu for having parents. I often wondered what it would be like to have a father to hold my hand, a mother to sing me to sleep with lullabies. Grandmama is,_ was,_ a very busy woman. Who could blame her? She is, _was,_ the head of the Secret Service. I used to entertain hopes that my parents were alive somewhere, but they were most likely dead.

"_You know, my mother used to say your loved ones will watch over you…"_ Were you fibbing then, Radu? I love to imagine my parents watching over me from heaven or wherever we go when we are dead and gone.

Radu's mother had just died then. We attended her wake. I felt bad my parents were not even accorded a funeral and a place in their family crypt since their bodies were never recovered. So we placed that photograph in a biscuit tin and buried it secretly in this forgotten cemetery. I have forgotten where but I always come here whenever I am troubled.

Radu's my confidante, my partner, my best friend… He's the brother I wished I had. I trusted him absolutely. Yet he had betrayed me. A traitor to the Empire, to all we used to believe in.

* * *

"_I am always on your side,"_ her earnest voice echoes in my ears. Esther. 

_How can she say that, especially since Methuselahs killed her family?_ I know what it is like. After burying my parents' picture, I made some inquiries into what happened in Warsaw that year. I learnt about the trouble in Warsaw that winter. My parents were probably caught up in the Methuselah-Terran confrontation and killed by Terrans. I confronted Mimar. He told me about how my mother died entrusting me to him to be brought to safety. I was so angry then.

For the first time in my young life, I understood what it was to hate. I struck out at the nearest Terran and pushed poor Mimar down the back stairs. He broke his leg. I was grounded for a month and given a good talking-to. Grandmama paid Mimar's medical bills. They hushed that incident up between them. I feel ashamed now looking back on how I treated poor Mimar and the other Terran servants. My prejudices became more fixed when I joined the Academy. I didn't want anything to do with Terrans at all. I really wonder why I was chosen to contact the Vatican for the peace talks given my feelings towards Terrans. There are other nobles who are better-qualified for that mission.

In the end, Grandmama dismissed all the Terrans and replaced them with Auto-maids. It must have been painful for her to make that decision. Many of the Terrans had served her loyally for generations. She still kept in touch with them. She has financial investments in Mimar's trading company and frequents the Terran cook's bakery. She buys buns and scones from her every Sunday for tea. She must have been lonely as Head of the Secret Service. You can't trust your fellow nobles in that position. _Sorry, Grandmama. I had behaved badly, a total brat, just as I have earlier with Esther…_

I know I must have upset her. I hear Esther's voice pleading with me to stay in the Asran mansion. I did not give her a chance to explain herself. I took off into the night, leaving her far behind. Lady Asran will probably be angry with me for disobeying her. I know it is risky for me to leave the safety of the mansion. Duke Baybars and his Yeniceri must be crawling all over the city looking for the murderer, Ion Fortuna. I can't even pay my last respects to my grandmother. I can't go anywhere near without bringing down the good Duke's men on top of me.

Esther must understand what that is like. _Are Terrans more forgiving than Methuselahs?_ She sounded so sincere. I want to trust her words, because_… dare I say it?_ I think my heart will be broken if Radu's right about her…

_From a distance you look like you're my friend  
__Even though we are at war  
__From a distance I cannot comprehend  
__What all this fighting's for_

_Father, Mother, Grandmama. Are you watching over me from a distance, from the stars above or heaven? Can you guide me, Grandmama? What should I do? Who can I trust? I don't know what I should do._ In the west, the stars are fading from the sky. From the east, a pale dawn is breaking, the soft UV-filtered light passing through the Wall. Birds are stirring, greeting the new day with song. I can't share their joy…

* * *

**Author's Notes:**

We have a young man who is very confused here. I hope I gave some plausible background to Ion's prejudices against Terrans. I know nothing about Ion's family though, apart from his grandmother.

Please read and review.


	17. Francesco

Disclaimer: Trinity Blood and its characters do not belong to me. This fanfic consists of monologues by the characters at their most alone. Not in chronological order. May contain spoilers for the anime. Rated for potential dark and mature themes.

Politics is a dirty business at the best of times. I have no idea how Popes are elected by the College of Cardinals in today's Catholic Church. I only know it may be a long process where the Cardinals are sequestered until they achieve a majority (I think it is two-thirds) for a new Pope. The whole process is hush-hush. However, as evidenced by the power struggles in the Vatican of the Trinity Blood, politics is a major part of life for Francesco and Caterina… Beware. Church politics up ahead.

* * *

**Francesco: Hound of God**

When God made the commandment _"Thou shalt not kill",_ he must have made it with special reference to siblings. I hate my half-sister, with her golden curls and shrewd mind. Sometimes, I wish my father had not taken up with that Milanese noblewoman. If he didn't, Caterina would not be the bane of my life today.

She has done it again.

She now graced the headlines of the Vatican Post. She was smiling as she shook the hand of the Prince of Morocco after a very successful diplomatic visit. The headlines screamed: _Cardinal Sforza Bridges Rift in Vatican-Morocco Ties. _They did mention me in the article, as the main cause of that unfortunate incident in Morocco that resulted in this diplomatic visit to start with. My army was simply trying to force out a vampire hiding in the Prince's summer mansion. It was collateral damage the building was razed to the ground along with the Prince's prized art collection.

I glower at the pimply-faced Inquisition recruit who brought me the morning paper.

"Tell Captain Petros to search the Vatican Post offices." Petros will search first and question later, after all the office has been torn apart. The recruit stands to attention and bows.

"Yes sir!" he nearly sprints out. I wince as he had left out the proper term of address for a cardinal. The impetuous shrimp will be peeling potatoes in the Inquisition kitchens until the Second Coming. I make a note in my memo. I will arrange for a new, more polite recruit to be my valet.

Look on the bright side of things, she is not going to Albion to attend that late monarch's funeral and stick her finger into their politics. Unfortunately, neither am I. Westminster only invited Alessandro and an attendant.

_Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live…_I know she has always been a witch. No, she is not blatantly raising demons in the catacombs. She is too shrewd for that kind of witchery. However, I pray that one day I will find a way to rid the Holy City of her influence. It is unnatural how she has climbed to the high office she now holds. Sometimes I wonder if it was her angelic face and golden curls that got her there, just as her mother's beauty got my father into her bed. I know many of the old goats in the College of Cardinals are guilty of the deadly sin of Lust. I have heard enough confessions in my time, and dealt out fitting penance for those sinners. You wouldn't believe how many revered elders fantasized of having Caterina in their beds.

I sip my piping hot coffee. I would love to hear Caterina's confession, if only to find a handle against her. I HATE that bitch.

Initially, I underestimated her. I didn't expect her to pull a fast one on me.

I remember that day well. Our beloved Holy Father, and our biological father, had gone to his Maker. The College of Cardinals was going to meet the next day for the Vote. My hopes were high. Hadn't I been making full use of my new post of cardinal and my Inquisition army in enforcing the faith and hunting down those heretics? Cardinal Caterina? She was a female with no hope of sitting on the papal throne. My only true rival for the papacy was my uncle, but he was an old incompetent. The Church needed new blood to lead it.

My sister had then been confined to a Milanese convent working on some tapestry on the Lives of the Saints after a falling out with Uncle. So I was very surprised when she called on me that night…

* * *

"Brother, I ask you to reconsider your position. There has been an unfortunate incident that might turn the College in favour of Uncle." Her eyes were serious as she sipped the tea I had offered her as a host should. "My people inform me that Countess Lucretia of Sicily had died while in custody of your men."

"It was a seizure." I fidgeted. The noblewoman was caught red-handed practising satanic rites. She was arrested and brought to the Inquisition headquarters, where she was found dead in her cell, foaming at the mouth. The doctors ruled a seizure.

"True, but she was well-connected. You know two of her uncles are cardinals, and a brother is an archbishop. There are allegations of torture…"

"They lie!" I leapt to my feet. She only continued calmly. "Uncle intends to remove you from your current post for fear of scandal, once he becomes Pope…" I turned cold at her words. My dream of becoming pope was turning to ash.

"What do you suggest, Sister?"

"Easy, recommend Alessandro as Pope."

"Alessandro?" That boy was in a monastery copying manuscripts. There are only two kinds of people in this world, wolves and sheep. Men who make their own destinies and those who let fate lead them through life. Alessandro is a sheep. The only thing he may be good for as pope is to be martyred for his faith. He has no strength to lead the Church.

"Well, brother, the way I see things, it is either Alessandro as Pope and we guiding him along, or you exiled to some remote monastery and me sewing tapestries in a convent, courtesy of Uncle."

"Will they support him?"

"The College of Cardinals? Believe me. They'll prefer a boy on the papal throne to Cardinal Alfonso. You know he is a difficult man." Her argument left little room for argument. Uncle had trod on many toes on the way to cardinal. Forgiveness is not exactly a virtue commonly found in the College. They might simply vote for my little half-brother over him out of simple spite. Her gamble paid handsomely. It was Uncle who went into self-imposed exile. It wasn't long before she proved herself a dangerous rival to my position.

* * *

Caterina consorts with known criminals and other dubious characters. Wasn't that Hispanic she was speaking to in the square this morning a convicted murderer? I can't recall his name, but I am sure I did not approve him for parole. And that Albionian she recommended for a teaching post at the Rome University. Wasn't there some scandal surrounding him back in his home country? She has also picked up that mechanical reject from the dump… I will never let such garbage in my army.

She is not above poaching my men. She got Havel that way from my troops. _Thou shalt not steal,_ sis. Havel must have been smitten by her angelic face to thumb his nose at the post he once held in my army. Doesn't she also have a renegade AX agent tripping through Europe? I would really like to poach that one, given his attitude towards vampires, _tit for tat_, though I must admit that discipline may pose a problem.

Her agents are forever hindering the Inquisition's lawful business. Wasn't there a confrontation in Cartago recently involving one of her men? The best way to deal with them is to have the whole lot thrown out of the Church. They have no place in God's grand scheme of things.

_Cool it, Francesco…_ I drain my coffee cup. I will work hard to find that Achilles' heel in Caterina's pious armour someday, someday…. That thought is calming to me. I HATE that blond bitch.

* * *

**Author's Notes:**

Francesco has some very strong feelings against Caterina. Isn't Caterina a shrewd politician? Please read and review.


	18. Seth

Disclaimer: Trinity Blood and its characters do not belong to me. This fanfic consists of monologues by the characters at their most alone. Not in chronological order. May contain spoilers for the anime. Rated for potential dark and mature themes.

In my culture, it is considered ill-fated for a person to have to bury his offspring. So the parents and grandparents are not actively involved in the funeral rites. I guess in any culture, having a child die before its parent is a sad thing. Seth holds herself as a mother to her people, but as a Crusnik, she must have watched many of her children age and die…

My first Crusnik POV.

* * *

**Seth: Little Mother's Lullaby**

_Sleep my child and peace attend thee  
__All through the night  
__Guardian angels God will send thee  
__All through the night_

Night time. I like the night for her peace and stillness, a time for reflection and reminiscence. I lift a finger for a nightingale to rest on. The bird trills a sweet melody before flitting off to join its mate in the mulberry tree. If only She still lived, will our lives be different? I hear Mirka approach in a rustle of silk sleeves.

"As you have ordered, Tigris' and Luxor's remains will be suitably entombed," my dearest child, Mirka reports. "Their wakes will be held tonight. Asta and Ion will attend in place of their families…" She pauses. I know she feels the sheer waste of it, too. Two of my children, both of whom had shown so much promise, destroyed thanks to him. The scandal of treason will probably haunt both the Barvon and Suleyman names for generations. Suleyman's sisters, social butterflies of the court, have become virtual recluses overnight. Radu's cousin has requested permission to leave the Empire out of the shame. Both families have refused to conduct the customary wake, although I have decreed a pardon that granted them the privilege of being laid to rest in their family crypts instead of an unmarked grave in the local garbage dump.

True, no one will be exchanging stories about how Radu used to try and court Asta or how Suleyman trained outstanding agents for the Service over their wakes but at least Asta and Ion will have the wake candles tended to so they will not go out or have the mausoleums burnt down. I may want to drop by, but it would be improper, wouldn't it? Maybe as Seth the medicine student… Nah, as a commoner it would be even more improper…

"Thank you, Mirka. And thank Astaroshe and Ion on my behalf." With a wave of my hand, I dismiss Mirka. She leaves. I want to be alone with my thoughts. Now that the Vatican envoys have left, now that Brother had left… For a moment, I had allowed myself the luxury of being his kid sister. But it was an illusion. We have changed. Nine hundred years is a long time. The dynamics of our relationship have shifted. I am a mother now, the little mother to a people. Like any mother, I will defend my children from any threat.

* * *

Once, I had been timid. Once, I had been content to hide behind her skirts or cling onto Brother's hand like a little child. It all changed that moment I stepped into the room to find her lifeless corpse on the floor and Brother grappling with him. Something snapped in me then. I yelled at Brother to stand aside as I punched the command to lower the pod over that monster. I dropped him to Earth, watching with satisfaction as the pod blazed a fiery trail of death through the atmosphere. I was so naïve. 

Brother left me soon after. I never expected to see him again. I thought he would die from the grief that was so clearly painted on his face as he carried away the lifeless corpse of the woman who was like a mother to us. I was alone. The remnants of the colonists looked to me for guidance in a world laid to waste by the Apocalypse brought about by our folly and that of people of Earth. I had no choice. I stepped into the void left by my brothers.

I founded the city of Byzantinum and nurtured it. Its people are my children. I cared for them as She would have. I watched generation after generation of my children grow up and pass on…

* * *

_I found him alone in the gardens the night before he left. He sat on a bench, lost in his thoughts. I sat down on the bench by his side. It came so naturally. I lay my head on his lap, like I used to do with Her. "Seth?" he snapped out of his reverie at my touch. _

"_Please…" I close my eyes and hum that lullaby She used to sing to us. He understood. I felt his hand stroking my hair gently as She used to do. For a short while, I was transported back into the past, when I was truly a child in that safe white haven. Come morning, I would have resumed my role as the Empress.

* * *

_

I turn my eyes towards the island of the dead where the noble households entomb their dead in their marble crypts. I spot the lights of the Barvon family crypt in the lower part of the island where the lesser nobles have their mausoleums. Higher up in the hilly part of the island are the lights of Suleyman's wake. I recall with a pang of regret that the opulent Moldova mausoleum is still in ruins. I will offer suitable compensation to the Fortunas. Maybe a more opulent mausoleum? I will discuss this with Mirka at a later date.

* * *

"Where do we go when we die?" I asked Her back then. She only smiled and told me about how once upon a time, four artificial beings were created in sterile labs across the Earth. They were sent to Mars to colonise the planet with a handful of human colonists. They came into contact with the bacilli and nanomachines. It was our story. She never told me the end because the story is not yet done. Is there a heaven for Methuselahs and Crusniks? Do we go to heaven too? 

I like to picture Her, surrounded by harp-playing angels, in that paradise they call Heaven. I know it is childish. For centuries, the Vatican branded my children as vampires, as monsters to be eliminated. It is only recently that I have dared to hope. Brother's dream of a lasting peace may be foolish, but I want to believe in it. I don't know if we can trust the cardinal, or if one woman can turn back an ancient tide of prejudice against my children.

My children still look to me for guidance. For their sakes, I must be strong. I have to take this gamble. For Suleyman, for Radu and all those who have perished in this episode. For the living as well, young Ion, Asta and loyal Mirka, the citizens of this city, Methuselah or Terran.

I have managed a tightrope between the Methuselah and Terrans of the Empire, showing neither favour nor prejudice. It is difficult. Many of my nobles feel themselves superior to Terrans. Many Terrans fear my choldren. I have witnessed centuries of conflict between both races. Sometimes, I fear my city of glass will shatter into a million pieces.

The laughter of children playing carefree in the streets, Terrans and Methuselahs going about their lives under the shield of the Wall… These are the sights I have also witnessed in the guise of a tea-seller. The other day I saw a family, a mother with two boys and a little girl. It doesn't matter if they were Terran or Methuselah. The mother was tall and had a gentle face. The boys were scuffling in some spat while she tried to break up the fight. The little dark-haired girl was clinging to her skirts. I was reminded of back then when She was our guardian angel, when we lived in bliss that seemed to be forever.

* * *

"Your Imperial Highness, it is cold tonight," I hear Mirka approach. I let her arrange the fur-lined cloak about my shoulders. I know it is unnecessary for one like me but it is that gesture of concern that counts. "Do you wish me to stay, your Highness?" Mirka is no longer as young as she used to be when she was first appointed Head of the Secret Service and became my confidante. I will definitely miss her… 

I shake my head. "Let's go back inside, Mirka." I know I cannot return to the past. Even if I can find it in me to forgive Cain, Brother will never forgive him. She will still be dead. Cain does not want peace at all. He wants to destroy all that we hold dear. There is no going back.

Maybe tonight I will dream of a white heaven in the stars where we were once happy and truly a family.

* * *

**Author's Notes:**

Seth may be a Crusnik and the Empress, but I think some part of her remains a child. She probably delights in her role as the tea-selling medical student. She teases poor Ion and Esther for being a couple when she encounters them. She probably longs for a family, or for the past when she had brothers and a mother to care for her.

Please read and review.


	19. Isaak

Disclaimer: Trinity Blood and its characters do not belong to me. This fanfic consists of monologues by the characters at their most alone. Not in chronological order. May contain spoilers for the anime. Rated for potential dark and mature themes.

This fandom has some pretty obvious Isaak-Dietrich pairings. However, I am intending something a little different…For the purposes of my fics, Isaak is Methuselah. Dropped in a bit of his history in the Albion University as well.

* * *

**Isaak: Requiem**

_All things will perish from under the sky_

I wait for him to return. It's been a week since the Londinium disaster. I nurse my own injuries. They are healing nicely, thanks to my Methuselah heritage. I have not heard from the brat since we parted company at the Berlin train station, he to the ferry for Londinium, I to my battleship. The brat flashed me an obscene sign (quaintly called giving the bird) from the train window as it pulled out of the station. On hindsight, maybe I should have yanked him out of the train by his lapels and stuck him under the engine as it pulled out.

I expect Dietrich will be back, walking in through the door, uniform immaculate, wearing my cologne, sarcastic and mocking as ever. Soon, he will be sitting in my armchair by the fireplace or sprawled on my couch, drinking my wine, messing up my books in my private library. Like the peasant brat he is.

I stretch out my legs towards the blazing fire for warmth. Cain has not yet returned. _Could he be dead?_ I think it is unlikely. Once he has picked up all his pieces, he will be back. Smiling and dripping venom in his words even as he praises us for a job well done, then blasts the heads off a couple of us. The Albion incident was a fiasco. He would spare me, and Dietrich, of course, as usual. Cain is always mistakenly fascinated by Dietrich.

What did Dietrich think? That he, a miserable, filthy Terran brat can simply waltz into the Orden and have himself set up as my protégée? I will never acknowledge his prowess or even his existence. I only spoke to him even absolutely necessary, be it for some mission we had to cooperate with on or to tick him for some misdeed. I swear he is out to rile me sometimes with his ultimately childish pranks.

Tacks on the chair, misplaced books and ruined manuscripts, many irreplaceably priceless… I grit my teeth at the memory of his childish antics. I think he may have burnt my rare Aristotle volumes in the fire in pique for me sending him to Istvan without back-up. I heard he ran into some trouble with a certain person there… some police chief who liked little boys. Didn't Dietrich get back at him later? Still, his resourcefulness in using that little sister from St Matthias was commendable. And his using Flamberg as a puppet in Byzantinum… He can be capable when he is not being childish.

I can't punish him too harshly. Terrans are too fragile for the discipline I normally dispense to errant members of the Orden. Cain had warned me before. He is fairly taken with Dietrich's special ability.

If anyone is going to kill the boy, it wouldn't be me.

The brat's on a slow one-way road to his own destruction. He riles the others in the order me as well (Lord Cain excluded. Boy worships the ground he treads on). He toys with us like a puppeteer. I have on good authority that at least seven in ten members have his name at the top of their 'to-kill' list. It will be a shame if he got killed in a boardroom struggle, wouldn't it? _What am I thinking?_ I must be going soft.

It's his fault for looking so exquisitely innocent and fragile as he pores over a copy of Human Anatoma in my well-furnished library. My domain is off-limits to everyone in the Orden except Lord Cain, but I never once chased him out. Dietrich simply looked so earnest when he pored over various tomes on medicine, engineering, technology and other fields. He would be so absorbed on those occasions, I believe I could have easily stepped up behind him and sliced open his throat.

On another occasion when he was about ten, Dietrich watched in rapt fascination as I played the violin, drinking up the music. I must have been lost in my thoughts not to notice him enter the room and sit in my armchair. When I stopped, he faked disinterest and claimed he was not interested in music at all. _Liar._ The disappointment was painted clearly in his eyes when I returned the instrument to its case. That violin is still sitting in its case on the bookshelf. I have not played it since…

It reminded me of her. Rose Lancaster, the woman I once loved and hated, could have, should have married. Proud, haughty Albionian noble bitch. She loved the violin too.

* * *

"_Vergissmeinicht, Isaac. I want you to remember me, always,"_ she said before moving out of my life and back to her fiancé. She was so cruel. I was glad I killed that bitch and framed her fiancé into the bargain.

Young Dietrich laughed at my folly then. "She dumped you good, Magician." He laughed at me while sprawled over my couch, his boots scuffing the expensive velvet. He was still laughing until I struck him so hard, I knocked him out cold. Thankfully, he came to after an hour, feeling well. Well enough to try hurling me out the window with his strings. Of course, his powers were nothing compared to mine back then.

* * *

A few months back, even I would be wary of crossing him. Radu made that mistake, and we all know where that flame-thrower wound up. The boy must have put him through hell while fixing up his body in the basement. His screams of agony fairly shook the mansion apart. Cain had to yell at them to keep the bloody racket down. The brat always likes to mix work and pleasure… He's probably sipping Albionian tea and chatting up some innocent Albionian schoolgirl, if he is not burning in hell…. No, Dietrich will survive. He will be back, probably with Cain, with that impetuous smirk on his angelic face.

I sigh and took one last puff on my cigarette before stubbing it out. If only he would walk through that door…

I open the dusty violin case, pick up my violin and lifted it to my chin. I put the dusty bow to those strings. It has been too long. I know he is not coming back, ever. This will be my tribute to him. The Devil's Trill. A lament for the paradise lost.

_Music alone shall live and never die

* * *

_

**Author's Notes: **

Vergissmeinicht roughly translates to "Don't forget me." in German. I got it from a poem of the same name by Keith Douglas. The opening and closing lines are from a German melody. I have used it in my other Trinity Blood fanfic. The Devil's Trill is a piece of music that was supposedly composed by its creator from a dream in which a devil played it to him.

There is not much background on Isaak. Instead of a slash pairing, I let his interest be more paternal or brotherly attraction. Please read and review.


	20. Noelle

Disclaimer: Trinity Blood and its characters do not belong to me. This fanfic consists of monologues by the characters at their most alone. Not in chronological order. May contain spoilers for the anime. Rated for potential dark and mature themes.

* * *

**Noelle: Seasons in the Sun**

_We had joy, we had fun; we had seasons in the sun…_

I met him one lazy summer afternoon on the steps of St Helena of Rome. The sunlight glinted off his hair as he climbed up the stairs. I was sweeping the porch of the church. He appeared like an angel. I must have fallen for him then. I did not hesitate when he asked me on the behalf of Cardinal Sforza to join AX. Countless times I have worried about him, prayed for his safety when he leaves on his more dangerous missions... fearing that glimpse of him would be my last.

Now he looks slightly bewildered as I order sherry to go with our seafood dinner. I need it. Do you have the slightest idea how difficult it is to tell that special someone how much you love him?

I know some would say it is a sin for a nun to be entertaining such thoughts. If loving someone is to sin, then I am a sinner. For a while, I was content to be his colleague but not anymore. I cannot lie to my heart. The sunset is so lovely in Barcelona, so romantic. Nearby, a couple looks into each others' eyes. A waiter plays the violin nearby. Poor Abel is looking more ill at ease by the minute. Is he feeling guilty about spending AX money on this meal? I will go to confession and do penitence for that.

How many times have I gone to confession with those butterflies in my stomach? Sometimes I feel ridiculous confessing my love for Abel to one of the others. And thank God for the seal of the confession. Thanks to my powers, I can sense who the Father on duty is without even meaning to. Hugue has an unmistakable melancholic aura. William's is a solid colour with a tinge of a past sorrow... I prefer Hugue as my confessor, at least with his journeying and silence, I have little fear of him blurting something out by accident. Sometimes I wish it were Abel listening to my confession.

Everyone has a unique colour… Especially Abel… Now, he is emanating an aura of nerves. Poor Abel.

Surely he can't be that clueless. Both William and Hugue know from those sessions in the confessional. Vaclav probably guessed it. I am sure that was why he handed me and Abel a pair of tickets for the Christmas play. We really enjoyed that play. It was a comedy. Abel was chuckling throughout.

Leon also guessed it. He is always teasing me about Abel whenever we meet. I am sure Caterina definitely knows how I feel towards him.

_"Noelle, take care of him in Barcelona, please. Don't let him blow the budget like he did with Leon in Albion."_ I am sure there was a twinkle in her eye when she handed me the funds for our trip. I have considered leaving AX in light of my personal conflict but if I left, I am sure I will never see him again.

Already, we had spent a lovely summer's day in Barcelona, visiting the tourist spots, seeing the sights and the sounds on this sun-blessed city. We watched a group of gypsies dancing near the fountain to the tambourine and accordion. I started dancing to the lovely music, and pulled Abel along for a jig. I was surprised Abel turned out to be better dancer than I had expected. The crowd by the fountain applauded when we were finished dancing. I suppose it is not every day a priest and a nun danced a gypsy jig in a public square.

"Noelle, you have not touched your food…" Abel asks and fidgets. He isn't eating much either. I don't feel that hungry, really, on top of those butterflies in the pit of my stomach. I smile and sip at my glass. My thoughts are elsewhere. The sunset is so lovely. I wish time will stand still...

* * *

"I have sinned. I am in love with a man…" I am back in that confessional in the ancient church frequented by AX members and half the population of Rome. Fidgeting with the hem of my habit and awaiting the reply of Father Confessor. "I dream of walking with him on the beach in the sunset, just the two of us…" I blurt out and blushed with embarrassment. I add in a whisper. "I will tell him I love him…" I had some more intimate fantasies but I was waiting for Father Confessor's reaction first. 

"How is that a sin, my child?" William's upper class Albionian accent was unmistakable. He has no idea it was me on the other side of the screen.

"Because I am a nun and he is a priest," I bit my tongue. _Damn the vow of celibacy…_ Poor Father William was speechless for a while before he continued.

"Love comes in many forms, my child. Familial love, love between friends, love for one's fellows in Christ… Didn't God love mankind that he sent his Son to redeem us?" After expounding on the variations of love, he tried to convince me that my feelings are a mistaken form of what's really a platonic love. I know better.

* * *

Now I am living my little sinful fantasy. Walking on a sunset beach with the man I have developed an undeniably romantic love for. The seagulls are calling. The last rays of the setting sun paint the sea a shimmering gold. The sand appears so soft under my boot-soles. The breeze tugs softly at my hair. Maybe I should just go barefoot. The sherry must be getting to me. I spin around to face him. He is looking at me, a small smile on his face. He is at ease now, away from that expensive dinner and the tourists at the restaurant. 

How does he feel about me? I have no idea if he really loves me or will love me as I love him. My powers are not that specific. I know he feels comfortable around me, most of the time. Does he see me as a friend, a colleague? _Now or never, Noelle, girl, _I tell myself and screw up my courage to broach the topic that could irreparably shift the balance of our relationship.

"Say, Abel, aren't you going to ask how I feel about you?" I blurt out. The alcohol must have loosened my tongue and made me reckless.

_Please don't let him hear me, please don't let him hear me…_

"Huh?" He blanches. _Talk about awkward._

_Never mind._ I feel my heart sink just as the sun starts to slide under the horizon.

"Excuse me…" Sister Kate's voice cut in. I had forgotten about the communicator. _Thank goodness for the interruption._ As Kate relays the information relating to our mission she has discovered to Abel, I gaze at the last of the dying day. _It is better to have loved and lost… isn't it?_ Had we really loved to start with? Emptiness fills me. I let out a soft sigh. Night is falling. The moment has passed. The mission beckons.

* * *

**Author's Notes: **

Noelle's feelings for Father Abel are probably more than platonic. As to whether her feelings for Abel are reciprocated, it is open to discussion. Reviews?


	21. Abel

Disclaimer: Trinity Blood and its characters do not belong to me. This fanfic consists of monologues by the characters at their most alone. Not in chronological order. May contain spoilers for the anime. Rated for potential dark and mature themes.

My second Crusnik POV. Finally got round to Abel.

* * *

**Abel: Black Winged Angel**

_Broken wings, still strong enough to cross the oceans_

_Broken wings, how far should I go drifting in the wind?_

_Lillith?_ I am a child again, walking barefoot through the fluorescent-lit corridors of the space station. Cain was still sleeping when I climbed down from my bunk. We always knew we didn't have real biological parents or siblings. We were all created in labs, separate labs all over the world. Artificial humans, created from a bundle of genetically-altered cell material in a test tube. It bothered me more than it should. Cain simply smiled it off, as usual.

"Lillith?" I find her in the viewing gallery. She lifts a finger to her lips for silence. Little Seth lay asleep in her lap. I sit next to her, looking down on that hateful planet.

"Isn't it beautiful, Abel?" she asks serenely.

"I hate it," I pout like the child I am. "I will hate it always."

"One day, you will learn to love this planet and its people. This is our home planet, Abel. Where we were born…"

* * *

_She loved this planet._ I lift my head up. I must have fallen asleep somehow. She now lay behind the reinforced glass of the pod. She appears to be peacefully asleep, but I know better. Cain had killed her, killed the woman who had mothered us over those years. I rouse myself and got my feet. I pocket my rosary. She lay with her eyes closed, face peaceful, as always. _Peace…an unattainable illusion humankind has sought for eons._

It is time for me to resume the mask of the meek Father Abel Nightroad, priest of the Vatican. When I had finally broken my long vigil, the world had changed. No, it had recovered from the great Disaster our folly had unleashed on it. I know Cain and Seth are probably still out there, living their own lives. Time had stopped for me when she died and restarted when I met young Caterina.

"Father Abel Nightroad. The Duchess of Milan requests your presence in her office immediately for mission briefing." Tres was waiting for me outside the catacomb. How time has passed. Caterina has grown into a strong-willed woman. She reminded me a little of Lillith, but she isn't her. We hurry down the corridor to her office at a good pace.

* * *

We have received our mission. Tres has gone to the armoury to re-stock. I wait for his return at the gate to the Inner Vatican offices. Looking across the bridge, I see the many sisters, brothers, priests and faithful thronging about the square. A matronly sister nun shepherds her train of orphans across to where an ice-cream vendor peddled his wares. A group of young brothers are engrossed in an animated discussion with Father William by the fountain. They are on the verge of coming to blows with their poor professor when a Vatican guardsman steps in.

A stoic Father Hugue is walking up to the bridge hurriedly and away from a knot of giggly young nuns drawn by his picturesque looks. As usual, he passes me without a word. His fans are left out in the cold. Petros is dragging a reluctant felon into the Inquisition's stone and brick headquarters. Sister Paula follows up at the rear. A choir of boys scatters when the Inquisition captain approaches them.

"Father Abel, have a nice trip!" the young guard by the gate waves to me when I leave with Tres. I return his smile and wave. She was right. I love Rome and her people. Caterina, William, Tres… everyone… I love them all.

I hate my other self, the one who drains life from Methuselahs and delights in destruction. Yet it was that powerful, killing me who had saved young Caterina that night. It is that me who justified my post in AX. The nanomachines in my veins demand to be unleashed, unleashing the demon within… that terrifying beast…

_Now, Abel, don't think that way. _I fancy I hear her voice chiding me. Or maybe it was Caterina's. I am no longer sure. It has been too long, my memories of her faded.

"Status report, Father Abel?" Tres' voice cuts in monotonously.

"Just a touch of sun," I reassure him.

"Affirmative. Recommend you seek shade and re-hydrate," Tres advises. "Recommend H-two-O…" We stop at the station café where I order a cup of tea. _Maybe this time I need not transform into a monster. Maybe this mission will go peacefully and no one will be hurt,_ I pray. The waitress returns with my order. I pay and thank her.

_One,_ the first sugar cube melts into the reddish tea. _Abel Nightroad, Crusnik 02 is AX's ace card. Haven't I been instrumental to resolving some difficult situations?_

_Two, _those situations were often resolved with Tres emptying an entire armoury's worth of bullets and Crusnik 02 soaking up Methuselah blood. Peaceful is rare.

_Three,_ you promised a little girl to help her. I stir the tea furiously to dissolve the sugar cube.

_Four,_ that little girl has grown up and has an able team to back her up. Losing one member would make little difference. The fourth cube lands with a plop in the tea.

_Five,_ Abel, you are an important part of the team. You are not going to simply walk away from AX, _like you did with Seth._ Seth. I recall how we had parted with a pang of regret.

* * *

"Brother!" Seth called out after me bewildered. I moved in a daze. She runs after me a few paces before the reinforced glass panel slid into place between us. Her frantic pounding faded as I moved onwards to the space shuttle. Lillith was so light in my arms. I placed her in the pod. In a dull voice, I input the commands. If I had looked back, would I have seen Seth's pale face pressed against the glass of the viewing gallery, watching the shuttle leave the space station, leaving her alone…

_Sorry, Seth… Six, seven, eight…_

The tea is overflowing into the saucer. Seth must have done well. Rumours speak of an Eternal Empress of the East, the Methuselahs of the New Human Empire hold in most high esteem. I know this mysterious leader may be my little sister… _Nine, ten, eleven…_

_Twelve, _if Cateina wishes to pursue a course of peace between the Church and the Empire, would Seth be willing to negotiate? I had taught her to hate Terrans and view them as a danger to Methuselahs in those early days. Cain and I, we turned Seth against Lillith, whom she was so fond of. She may be receptive to the idea of peace. She was fairly reluctant even back then to follow a course of conflict with the Terrans. Maybe my memories are fuzzy from the time that had passed.

_Thirteen…_ I stir the thick mix before drinking the sugary paste. Sated, I lowered the teacup from my lips. Catching sight of the dregs, another memory stirs to life.

* * *

"Do you know you can tell your future from tea leaves?" Lillith asked. We shook our heads. She smiled and made a show of peering into Cain's teacup. "I see a knight on a horse. You will go on a long journey of adventure…" she added with a flourish.

"My turn!" Seth laughed and peered into her teacup before showing it to me. "I see a queen! Will I be a queen?" I looked at the dregs in her cup.

"No, it looks like a witch to me."

"Well, you are looking the wrong way!" Seth puffed up her cheeks in childish rage.

"Abel, what do you see in your teacup?" Cain asked in amusement. "Nothing," I murmured. "I think it is an angel," Cain said as he swirled my teacup.

"That's cheating! You're moving the leaves around!" Seth protested.

* * *

"5 minutes 14 seconds to boarding, Father Abel," Tres reminds me of our train. I carefully scoop out the excess sugar and look into the tea leaves in my teacup now. _An angel. I see a black-winged angel of doom, his wings broken and scarred. _With a sigh, I replace my teacup. Why should this mission be any different? This black-winged demon was setting off yet again for another journey, one of many…

* * *

**Author's Notes:**

From the manga and the anime, I get the feeling the Abel is very reluctant to use his Crusnik powers. He operates mostly at 40 percent when he has to, and only when there is no other way. He gets very hurt when Esther witnesses his Crusnik form in the manga. He refers to his other form as the shape of his sins. Please read and review.


	22. Tres

Disclaimer: Trinity Blood and its characters do not belong to me. This fanfic consists of monologues by the characters at their most alone. Not in chronological order. May contain spoilers for the anime. Rated for potential dark and mature themes.

Tres gets to do a full Monty for his inspection. You may think of this as a part 2 to William's POV.

* * *

**Tres: I am a Machine**

_Backing up memory bank…_I let my guard down by a degree. _Pistols at ease, safety on._ I register Sister Esther and the Professor nearby. _Back up files on Sister Esther and Professor. Category: friend. Sister Esther Blanchett. Rookie. Red hair, blue eyes… Five foot eight… Needs more training on firing range. Father William Walter Wordsworth, aka Professor, and Albion knight. Teaching Advanced Mechanics at Rome University…_ The Professor trips on an extension cord and stumbles. Tools go flying over the lab floor. "Professor!" Esther helps him to his feet. _Needs to be more alert to his surroundings._

"Damage report, Professor…" I speak. My voice sounds a bit scratchy. I did get a bullet in my voice unit 108 hours, 47 minutes and 4.5 seconds ago from that little shootout in Florence. I register Professor has injured his left thumb. A bandage is wound around it.

"Well, I never, Tres has a bit of a sore throat," the Professor chuckles.

"Negative. I am a machine." I do not get sore throats. "Request to proceed with inspection and maintenance." I have already removed most of my uniform except my shirt and trousers.

"Very well, old boy, we'll look at that old sound box shortly." Professor relieves me of my weapons, undoes my shirt buttons removes my shirt. "Sister, screwdriver, and here we go…" I register a draft as my chest plate is removed. He starts tinkering inside me… Not painful or unpleasant, but I do not categorize it as comfortable. I should multi-task now.

_Back up memory bank. Vaclav Havel, codename No Face… Dark hair and beard… her right hand man. Hugue de Watteau aka Sword dancer, blond, six foot twelve… current status: missing, not yet presumed dead…_ Father Leon _Gracia de Asturias aka Dandelion, Hispanic, dark complexion, dark hair… current status: in prison awaiting further orders. _Finally, the chest plate is replaced.

Next, the voice unit… the Professor replaces the damaged unit with a new one. "Well, shall we give you a nice Scottish accent this time, or would you prefer a witty Irish one?" he asks as he finishes connecting it.

"Negative. The Duchess will not be able comprehend my report." My memory search turns up an incident three years back when I had my old voice unit accidentally jammed on Spanish when the Professor was in a hurry to attend a week-long conference in Barcelona University. I ended up having Father Leon on hand to act as interpreter. Thank goodness he came back from his conference with the new language independent voice unit models, just like the one I am now installed with.

"Very well, we'll stick to your usual utilitarian. We'll also run checks on your lower hydraulic systems…" I oblige by lowering my trousers so the Professor can access the pressure valves low on my hips. I am a machine, even if my manufacturers built me to mimic a human body as far as possible. There is no way I ought to feel, (what's it?) embarrassed about appearing naked in front of… Sister Esther is looking away, her face a bright crimson.

"Sister Esther, request status report…"

She replies with a barely intelligible squeak. I register a slight rise in temperature around her face and ears. Her breathing and heartbeat is a tad faster than normal… Running her reaction of discomfort through my memory banks, I turn up… _Embarrassment?_

"Oh dear, forgot we have you with us today… My apologies, Sister Esther, would you like to pull that screen over? You can pass me the tools from behind. I don't think I will need more than one hand to run the hydraulic tests," the Professor continues without batting an eyelid. The Sister dodges behind the screen.

Finally, the inspection is over. I re-dress myself as Sister Esther and the Professor put aside the assorted nuts, bolts and wrenches. I hope William did remember to replace all my bolts and nuts. Some time back, there was a misplaced nut and my arm fell off during a combat situation. _Very… awkward? Embarrassing?_ I am a machine. I have no emotions. What does it mean exactly to feel embarrassed? You tell me. I may record in my databank for future reference.

I should ask the Professor to explain some human emotions to me… I get so… Check databank… _confused?_ At times.

* * *

**Author's Notes: **

A very short piece for a machine.


	23. Petros

Disclaimer: Trinity Blood and its characters do not belong to me. This fanfic consists of monologues by the characters at their most alone. Not in chronological order. May contain spoilers for the anime. Rated for potential dark and mature themes.

Petros appears as a somewhat stubborn, bull-headed man dedicated to carrying out what he deems is work in God's service. He has an almost fanatical streak in him at times about his duty. However, when he is calm or not in a rage, he appears to be open to reason.

Petros means rock in Greek, it also refers to Peter, Christ's chief apostle and first pope. Hence the opening quote.

* * *

**Petros****: Rock of the Faith**

_Upon this rock I shall build My Church,_

_And the Gates of Hell shalt not prevail against it_

I fold my arms and glare at the priest. "Do you seriously expect me to believe that Cardinal Sforza has extended her protection to a vampire?" The priest only gives me a smile, a goofy one, before nodding.

"The Cardinal and the Empire are secretly negotiating a peace treaty."

Lord, has the world gone mad?

_Blessed be the peacemakers, for they are truly the children of God. _I steal a glance at this so-called emissary of peace. His eyes are closed, probably still unconscious. He is smaller than I would have expected but where vampires are concerned, appearances can be deceiving. In fact, his stature happens to match that of an alleged intruder to the Vatican Consulate. His features are child-like and a halo of blond hair completed his angelic appearance. If he weren't a vampire, he would probably pass for a Vatican choir boy. I look away in distaste.

This whole thing is against my beliefs and principles! My sworn duty is to protect the Church, the Pope, the Holy City, including her servants, Caterina Sforza included. Has the cardinal gone crazy? And her servants to boot?

The red-haired sister fluttered about the safe-house, tearing up cloth for bandages, boiling water and tending to the vampire's wound. She has even spoken to him as one would to a human patient. Does she not know the law states that all vampires must be executed?

The white-haired priest has been solemn throughout. He has proved himself a formidable opponent in battle. I respect him for that. Maybe that was why I have held my peace until now. I look out the window.

The city of Cartago sleeps oblivious to the Inquisition airships hovering over her. Paula has made her move. I let my mind drift back to another time.

* * *

"Lesson one, never trust a vampire! They are monsters, abominations in the eyes of the Lord!" Brother Simon yells to be heard over the screams from the dark cells on either side of us. I feel my stomach churn when I catch a glimpse of a dismembered limb sticking out of the shadows. Brother Simon has marched us raw recruits down into the Inquisition dungeons for his latest lecture. _Vampires deserved to die. No exceptions. It is the will of God… The will of God… _he drones on, branding his words deep into our souls.

It is an unpleasant business but necessary. The Inquisition, Dominus Canes, the Hounds of God, the force that enforces the Sacred Word on this earth. Those who oppose God's Word are doomed to hell anyhow and we are fully justified in speeding them there…

What was I doing, feeling compassion for an injured vampire? Cardinal Caterina and her cronies deserve death by burning for even daring to suggest we, God's people, make peace with those accursed creatures…

The image of that mangled limb in the dungeon lingers in my mind, along with Brother Simon's words. The words came faster and faster, until they were melded in a howl. Suddenly, I found myself on a rocky sea cliff, overlooking a white-sand beach. The shrill cries of seabirds broke the howl of the wind on the cliff. A solitary priest stood on the beach near where a small rowboat was moored.

"Father Mikos!" I scream out in my boy's voice. My words carry over the cliffs of the Greek island where I spent my childhood. There are no vampires here, no cardinals playing their power games, only God-fearing human beings eking out a living from the hills and the sea. Father Mikos turns and waves for me to approach him. I scamper down the steep slopes to the sand. He shows me the map. "The Holy Shroud," he whispers in excitement.

I must have let my bewilderment show on my face. "The winding sheet that bears the likeness of our Lord on it. It has been missing since the Armageddon, and I have figured out its resting place!" Another relic hunt? I screw up my nose in disgust. Father Mikos was good to my brothers and me. He cared for us ever since our parents perished from the mischance of drinking some bad beer. However, he is a dreamy and gullible old man. Haven't I helped him dig up half Mother Antonia's pasture in search of the bones of St Matilda once? Or watched him hauled out of the creek when he nearly drowned diving for the Holy Grail?

"You have never seen this winding sheet before. How can you be sure it is real? It could just be an old wife's tale!" Same for the Holy Grail and St Matilda.

"Some things, you do not see with your eyes, but you knew they are there. Boy, you don't see the air, but you know it is there."

"I can feel the air when the wind blows. It is different."

"When the wind stops, does that mean the air is gone?" Father Mikos asks kindly. "I believe I will find the Holy Shroud, God willing. I intend to go out in that to the island where it is hidden," he points to the rowboat.

"How can you be sure where you are headed?" I regard the boat with suspicion. The boat was later to sink and land our local priest in bed with the fever which eventually killed him.

"Compass. I'll find my bearings. Life's the same, boy. If you are lost, stop and look. The Lord works in mysterious ways..." Father Mikos smiles…

* * *

I awake with a start. Have I been dreaming on my feet? A wave of disgust fills me. Whatever would the boys say if they knew I had let down my guard in the presence of a vampire?

"How is he doing?" I try to sound casual. "He is recovering," the sister replies. "But he is unable to walk yet…" They make plans for the morning. In disgust, I stalk out into the corridor. The priest stops me short of the door.

"Well, as I have mentioned earlier, the Count is an emissary of peace from the Empire…" _Does he still expect me to believe that? A peace treaty between the Church and those monsters?_ I would rather believe in the dusty of bones of saints first. I would rather believe in Father Mikos' map to the Holy Grail…

I must be more tired that I have thought, for I drifted off again, until I was jarred out of it by tremendous explosions. What happened? Why are the airships firing on the city?

"I must go back!" My duty calls. If something had gone wrong, Paula will need my help. "If you are going back, I am going with you!" the vampire brat is up. The sister tries to dissuade him to no avail.

"Brother Petros, I have a request. I am not asking you to ensure our safety. I am asking you to lead us to the embassy." _The presumptuous nerve…_

"Are you asking me to help a vampire?" I growl, fighting the urge to use my Screamer on the little vampire.

"I am not asking for charity. After all this is over, I will turn myself in for execution. What do you say?" He waves aside the sister's attempts to dissuade him. "I believe firmly in this cause, even if it will cost my life." His eyes meet mine, fearless and determined. I understood. He has a duty and he is determined to carry it out, even at the cost of his life. I never thought that possible from a vampire. I have my own duty to the citizens and my subordinates. I decide to call a truce. A compromise? I think not. Once this whole mess is worked out, I can deal properly with the vampire and the cardinal's servants.

* * *

**Author****'s Notes:**

I guess I am covering most of the characters in the series. Did I miss out anyone? Anyone you would like a _Solitude _moment with?


	24. Paula

Disclaimer: Trinity Blood and its characters do not belong to me. This fanfic consists of monologues by the characters at their most alone. Not in chronological order. May contain spoilers for the anime. Rated for potential dark and mature themes.

Can you imagine being lieutenant to someone like Petros? The opening title for this is based on the motto of the US marines, _sempers fil,_ or forever faithful.

* * *

**Paula: Forever Faithful**

_Skipper, skipper, whither bound?_

_To Providence and through the Sound. _

_Skipper, skipper, hast thou no fear? _

_The Guide of Guides will guide me there_

Brother Petros is missing. Our Captain is missing in action, gone MIA. _For the keys of St Peter, the Virgin and St Michael the Archangel, he is missing and there are vampires running riot in Cartago!_ I bite my lower lip to keep from screaming out loud. The Duchess of Milan only sips daintily at her mint tea. _Unfeeling witch._ She heads AX, that somewhat shady outfit. The Inquisition is different. All our men have spotless records, which is more than what I can say about some of the AX members. We never sneak about the night like thieves. If we take issue with something, we do so openly.

"These Methuselahs mean us no harm. They are envoys from the Empire, under my protection as befits a diplomatic mission…" she continues on.

I fight the urge to slap her, or worse. What in the name of the saints is she thinking? A peace envoy from the Empire, the very force the Church has fought with for almost a millennia? Instead, I forced myself to bow and politely announced my intention to leave the room for the ostentatious purpose of securing the perimeter of the compound. The Duchess does happen to be the most powerful woman in the Church after all. And I have sworn to protect the Church, no matter how much I think the Duchess should be locked up in a cell for consorting with the enemy.

I make my way for the privacy of the Ladies' room. It has been a long day. I am worried.

Outside the windows, our airships kept vigil over the sleeping Cartagians. I can't sleep, although I have been on my feet since we arrived this morning. Or was it yesterday morning? The embassy's grandfather clock chimed the hours. Two, no, three o'clock in the morning. How many hours has it been since Brother Petros was whisked away by those rebels? Almost fifteen hours, and no news from him yet. All I can do is to secure the city and send out patrols for the rebels and vampires, the way he would have done.

_Petros, why did you charge after them without waiting for back-up?_ But that's Petros, isn't it? Utterly fearless and confident that God will shield him from harm in the course of his duties. The call of his sworn duty is far stronger than anything on this earth. Some of the recruits swear that their Captain would probably leap out of his grave if the Church is threatened. But that is silly talk. No human returns from the dead… Petros, you better not be dead. I don't think yelling at your gravestone will be very satisfying.

I let the tap run and splash water over my sleep-deprived face. The water is cool, almost icy. I heard that the embassy's water is drawn from deep underground springs that yielded cool water even in the hottest months. Nothing but the best for the Church. Maybe some of the embassy's coffee might be welcome… I muse.

Coffee. I used to hate that stuff. A memory of my days as a recruit drifts into my mind.

* * *

"Show us more leg, Sister! Bring over some coffee for us guys, chick!" a fellow recruit wolf-whistled as I join the lunch queue. I fought to keep my temper as more sexist jokes are cracked. _Girls don't belong in the army_, my late father had always said. He had almost impressed on me and my older sisters his disappointment our mother had not presented him with a son. _Girls are weak and silly. They can't fight their way out of a paper bag and needed husbands to think for them. _

At age sixteen, I decided I was going to join the army, just to prove my father wrong. I have had lots of experience then handling blades and holding my own with the numerous brawls that broke out in the family tavern. My father simply laughed and set about arranging my marriage to his best customer, the town's butcher and drunkard who spent more time diving in ale barrels and beating his late wife than plying his trade. That really took the shine off married life for me. I packed my bags that night and hit the road for Rome before sunrise.

Six months in the Inquisition and I seemed to be regulated to coffee waitress for the guys.

"Nice hips," another recruit leered as he took a place behind me and patted my bottom. I reach for my blades. Then the offending soldier's eyes went blank and he crashed to floor of the mess hall. There he was, my knight in shining armour. If only I had met him sooner…

"Thou shalt not insult your fellow soldier, soldier!" Petros' voice boomed across the mess hall. He replaced his now-dented tray with a fresh one and stood behind me in the lunch queue. "Coffee?" I blurted out awkwardly when we reached the coffee pots. Petros was never very conversational at such times, so he gave a grunt that I assumed meant yes.

* * *

Okay, I have a confession to make. I think I am in love with my captain. The downside is he does not seem to notice, not even with my 'special' battle dress. To be fair, he is fairly appreciative of my fighting prowess. He has made that clear upon getting instated as Captain of the Inquisition. Members who are capable get promoted, regardless of your birth, gender or family… We do have some sisters in leadership roles now.

Coffee. I reluctantly admit that I needed that perk-me-up. I located the coffee maker in the lobby office. The embassy's brew has a most delicious hazelnut flavour to it. Nothing but the best, I suppose. I sip at the steaming brew. The Duchess was under the watchful eyes of her android bodyguard when I left her, so I suppose I can take a few minutes off to catch some rest.

_How is he? What is he doing? _My mind protests. I relent. Perhaps I should offer a prayer. I know that back in Rome, Petros prays alone every morning before sunrise in the Inquisition's chapel and every evening before lights-out. I regret to say like the majority of the soldiers, my religious obligations with regards to prayer rarely exceeded saying grace at meal-time and Mass attendance. And maybe that secret prayer to the saints at night for someone to notice me…

_God, Father in Heaven, please protect your Knight, Brother Petros… Deliver him from all evil…_

A loud explosion shook the building. _What the-_ I curse heartily under my breath as loose plaster rained down. _An attack?_ My communicator buzzed to life. "Lieutenant! We cannot control the airships! I repeat! We have lost control of the guns!" A panicked voice screams. "Take them over the desert!" I will not have the Church's airships firing on civilians. At least in the desert, we may be able to buy time to fix… I receive an urgent call from our tank unit.

"The Goliath! It has been hijacked by a vampire!" A voice reports before its owner gave a deathly scream. I hear gunfire and a huge explosion, then silence. "Tank unit, report! Tank unit!" Failing to receive a reply, I can only assume the worst. The Goliath was our latest state-of-the-art weapon. In the hands of terrorist vampires…

"Lieutenant, our airships, they are not responding… We have lost steering …" the airship pilot reports. The communicator goes dead. We have lost all communications as well. I draw my blades. There was gunfire outside in the embassy gardens. They must have breach the security perimeter somehow. The Duchess of Milan. Her safety is paramount. I race up the stairs… I can hear more gunfire… I make short work of two axe-wielding intruders on the landing outside Her Eminence's chambers.

The red-haired android is busy shooting several others to smithereens on the balcony. _Where is the Cardinal?_ My heart clenches. I know the layout of this building, there was no way she could have fled to safety without passing the same stairs I have just come up. A hulking monstrosity hacks a ornate cupboard, eliciting a shrill scream of terror from within. _There!_ I slash open the vampire's body, almost bisecting it in the process. Filthy vampire blood splatters over my garments and the carpeting.

This is the least I can do as his second in command. Stay the course and carry out my duties to the Church and his, as he would have done had he been around.

* * *

**Author's Notes:**

I suspect Paula's feelings towards Petros may exceed that of duty. Comments? I get the impression from the anime that the Inquisition is also a mainly male outfit. Paula, Lady Death, is second in command, maybe she willingly plays second fiddle to Petros.


	25. Vaclav

Disclaimer: Trinity Blood and its characters do not belong to me. This fanfic consists of monologues by the characters at their most alone. Not in chronological order. May contain spoilers for the anime. Rated for potential dark and mature themes.

Vaclav and Caterina seem to go back to way before AX was formed. I am not too certain what their relationship is like compared to Caterina and Abel's.

* * *

**Vaclav: Silent Guardian**

My heart sinks when I glanced out of the window and see her being escorted out of her residence and across the square. I have known her long before she became cardinal. I know her to be a strong woman but still, I fear for her. Maybe if I use my powers to…

"Vaclav, no rash moves," William throws my earlier words back at me and places a restraining his hand on my shoulder. I give a resigned nod. It was too late anyway. The procession had moved out of sight of the building. _Vaclav Havel, guess you got to stay and hold the fort, even if Francesco's men are crawling all over Rome. Did I miss something? _We had crawled into all the belfries and climbed every bell tower in Rome. Leon complained his ears were ringing from when he failed to exit a belfry before Mass. I sincerely hope he wasn't fooling about then.

But the bell had rung without incident last night. Poor Caterina was sent to the proverbial dog-house. We have not spoken to her since then, though her lodgings were just across the square. _House-arrest indeed._

Abel Nightroad, where in the Lord's name are you? Surely you don't mean to abandon her at this time of need! Caterina is now bereft of her Crusnik guardian angel, I should have protected her. I have watched her grow from a little girl hiding behind her mother's skirts to a capable woman. She is the reason I am in AX instead of serving in the Inquisition. It seemed like only yesterday I was a disgruntled young guardsman assigned to protect the late Pope's Milanese mistress and her offspring.

* * *

"Vaclav Havel," she frowned prettily as she tried to repeat my name. "Papa sent you to watch me and mama?" 

She couldn't have been older than ten then. I was younger then, and had little time to waste on a child. However, her choice of words and her serious face caught my attention immediately. She knew, even at that tender age, that her father kept strict watch on his mistresses to keep any nasty conflicts from breaking out in the streets of Rome. In fact, the cloakroom gossip had it that he kept his numerous mistresses and bastard children in near imprisonment on various estates.

"I am here to protect you and your mother," I lied. And she saw right through it. "Mama's sick, so she will not be going out that much. I suppose I can stay and keep her company…" she shrugged indifferently. "I hate it being stuck here… I want to go out and see the fireworks at the carnival."

"You can see them from here," I replied matter-of-factly. Her home was located on a hill, overlooking the town and the carnival. "It is not the same," she muttered and vehemently attacked a rose bush with a pair of pruning shears. If you must know, I took her out to the carnival secretly, got found out and got packed back to Rome for disciplinary action. Petros probably remembers that incident, as he was the one who caught us sneaking back through the back gate. She stood on her balcony and watched as the cart carried me away. It was while I was serving out my punishment in Rome that I found my special ability.

* * *

I plop myself into an armchair. Leon is pacing the office like a caged beast. Tres stands at attention, obeying his mistress' last order to him. William is smoking his pipe, an annoying habit of his. The tobacco smell's getting a bit thick in here. Caterina might get upset if she returns and finds her office reeking of Turkish tobacco. Heaven alone knows where Abel is. Sister Kate's out there searching. 

The second time we met was in Rome. She had lost her mother and had taken her vows at a local convent, possibly at her father's insistence. I should have been there to protect her. I owe Abel a debt for saving her life that dark, blood-soaked night. The tragedy had tempered the steel in her. She rose quickly through the ranks to abbess, then to cardinal. When she asked me to join her AX…

* * *

"_Why are you asking me to join AX? With the Crusnik…" You don't need me…_

"_Vaclav, please."_

"_I wasn't able to protect you or your mother…" I hung my head before the new cardinal. She hit me on the cheek with her fan. _

"_Vaclav. You weren't there when it happened. You were sent back to your other duties in the Inquisition. That attack was never your fault. I need you in AX. Wars cannot be won by a single individual. I want an organization with talented individuals, including you. Please, Vaclav, my friend, do consider my offer…" _

Petros always says I was a fool to leave the Inquisition, but I have no regrets.

* * *

Now we can only watch her dream, her achievements crumble to dust under her half-brother's relentless accusations. _We must do something, anything…_ I felt for my gun, only to find air. _Of course._ Those Inquisition guardsmen had patted us down and confiscated all our weapons before escorting us here. They even removed all the ammo from Tres' guns. Only Leon kept his weapon by slipping it onto his wrist and passing it off as a bad fashion statement of a bangle. 

This is hopeless. I bury my face in my hands in surrender. "Excuse me… Father Hugue is back…" I barely register Sister Kate's words. She pauses awkwardly. "He knocked out the guards…" Her words are cut short by Hugue blustering into the room. The two unfortunates who had been guarding us were sprawled in the corridor outside. I wince. So much for not making any rash moves… Hugue throws a piece of paper onto the desk.

"Sister Noelle was holding this when she died…" he grunts. William immediately pores over the paper. I force myself to my feet and to walk over to the desk where my comrades are already in discussion.

* * *

**Author's Notes: **

I don't think Caterina-Vaclav's relationship is romantic in nature. It seems to be more platonic, or a sibling-type relationship. Caterina's definitely the dominant one, though. Vaclav is capable in his own right, but he respects her as his superior. Any comments? Vaclav does not get much of air-time in the anime and I do not know much about his character in the novel.


	26. Cain

Disclaimer: Trinity Blood and its characters do not belong to me. This fanfic consists of monologues by the characters at their most alone. Not in chronological order. May contain spoilers for the anime. Rated for potential dark and mature themes.

Some real weirdness ahead. A bit of love-hate hints.

* * *

**Cain: Mein Herr**

The water temperature is just right, warm enough to be comfortable but not scalding on my fragile skin. With a sigh, I disrobe, scattering my garments carelessly on the floor for my impromptu valet to retrieve. Next, I ease myself into the tub. I motion for my 'valet' to leave.

"Yes, Master," Isaak bows as he carries my clothes out. He will return in an hour's time with a new suit of clothes just as I am drying off. I hate them. Isaak for being the only reason my body is barely serviceable, probably also the reason why it is liable to fall apart if I over-exert… I hate the mockingly politeness he addresses me with. I'd love to throttle him with that long raven hair he is so proud of. And that little protégé of his…

Dietrich is a mistake. True, his cruelty to his fellow man is amusing to me, as are his powers. But he is a filthy Terran. He can't change that. That was the reason why I forced him on Isaak. I should never have let him into the Orden. I don't know how much Isaak knows about his activities involving various members of the Orden. I suppose from the screaming from the cellar, he has that what's his name in there…

I contemplate my reflection in the rippling surface of the bathwater. Not too bad, considering I had survived a several-thousand-foot plunge from a space station some nine hundred years ago. My body is still a tad too fragile for my liking but I guess it will be alright when I absorb the nanonites of my dear twin Abel. _Ah, Abel._ Silver hair and blue eyes.

* * *

"This is your room," she pushed on the control panel and the door slid open with a soft hiss to reveal our sleeping quarters. "Seth will share my room…" Of course, we were not interested in what she had to say. You walked over to the bunk beds to inspect them, hoping to find some flaw with the arrangements they had made for us. Finding none, you pouted and walked over to the viewing window. You always were serious, even back then.

"Would you like the top bunk?" I sat down on the lower bunk and wondered if they had fish and chips on Mars. "Whatever," you scowled and clambered up onto the top bunk.

An hour or so after lights out… you were up again. You clambered out and over to the viewing window from which could see Earth. "What's the matter, Abel?" I called out. After all, I had not slept yet. I climbed out of my bunk to join you

"I hate it. Why did they create us in the first place?" You continued glaring at the planet with such intensity that if looks could kill, it would have burst into flames.

"No one knows what does humans are thinking," I shrugged. "It's horrid, isn't it?"

"I think Lillith does not think so…"

"What does she know?"

"Sorry for waking you up, Cain."

"It's alright, my brother."

"Brother?"

"What else? We have no real parents or siblings, but I suppose we could make do…"

"Will this make Seth and Lillith our sisters? I can think of Seth as a kid sister, but Lillith is more like a mother…"

"Whatever you think, Brother Abel. Let's get some sleep." We ended up sharing the bottom bunk. I still remember the sweet shampoo smell of your hair and feeling how soft the slivery strands were against my skin…

Abel, Abel… I thought we shared something special. We were the Chosen Ones. The Crusniks. We are more than the humans who had created us, more than the Methuselahs whose blood we feed on.

* * *

Armageddon. The End of Days, the Judgement… We brought the Apocalypse upon this planet we hated.

The surrounding buildings have been levelled by our combined attack. The inhabitants killed by my shockwaves and your lightning. We were alone, the only living beings in a blasted landscape. That was our finest hour, my brother.

"Together, we will purge this foul planet," I spoke out loud. You didn't utter a word but gazed at the destruction. Seth caught up with us.

"Lillith. She wants a truce. We need to talk," she relayed the message from that traitorous bitch.

"Seth, you should know better. Tell her to…" I shouted out but you restrained me.

"Tell Lillith, we will meet her," you replied hesitantly. It was her fault for turning you away from me. I never regretted killing her. You and Seth should have left the negotiations to me like I told you to. Why didn't you just stay in your room where I locked you? Sorry you had to see that, Abel. But that was the only way I am aware of then to kill a Crusnik. Then Seth dropped me from that space station. There are other ways I believe would kill a Crusnik. Maybe I can try them out on our dear little sister.

* * *

I think I am starting to prune… I raise myself from the now tepid bath. _Where's that towel?_ There was no towel in the room.

"Isaak!" I call out. I am dripping wet like some sodden dog. He's going to pay for his oversight… "Isaak!"

The Panzer Magier fails to show. Instead, it is the Terran who strolls in casually with a towel and bathrobe in hand. He wears a perpetually bored expression on his face. "You called, Master Cain? Isaak is a little occupied…" he smirks. I imagine he has Isaak tied up somewhere with his wires. I feel like tearing that smirk off his face. He takes my silence as an indication to start drying me off with the fluffy towel. The presumptuous nerve… Still, I allow him to proceed. He is a deft worker, for a Terran. But he has failed in Istvan…

"Oh, Dietrich, I understand there was some trouble in Cartago…" I mention casually as he hands me my bathrobe. "The problem will be rectified in due course in Byzantium, my lord. Don't you fear," the Terran replies cockily, too cockily. I strike him across the face. He reels from the force of the blow and holds his reddened cheek.

"Don't fail me this time," I smile icily down at where he is sprawled on the bathroom floor.

"Yes, my lord." Shakily, he scampers out on his hands and knees. I resist the urge to kick him in the rear end as he flees. It is a pity only Dietrich is capable of infiltrating the Byzantium Secret Service without Sister Seth catching on… or has she? Either way, the dear Empress' court will be thrown out of joint for a while… And any peace treaties with the Terrans may burn in hell with my heartfelt blessings.

* * *

**Author's Notes:**

It was very difficult to write Cain's POV. I can't figure out how he really feels towards his twin, and their relationship with each other. Love-hate? And I threw in a bit of their memories from the past. I get the feeling Cain doesn't really care for the Orden or its members much, seeing how callously he killed Dietrich in the anime's Albion arc. I wonder how this POV matches with the other Orden members'. We rarely see them interact in anime, at least not Dietrich, Isaak and Cain.

I guess I have covered most of the major characters in the anime. I may have to do some of the characters' POV again or do some of the more minor characters. If you feel I have missed out any of the anime characters you feel deserve a Solitude moment, drop me a note in the review.


	27. Wendy

Disclaimer: Trinity Blood and its characters do not belong to me. This fanfic consists of monologues by the characters at their most alone. Not in chronological order. May contain spoilers for the anime. Rated for potential dark and mature themes.

Warnings: Strong hints of rape, molestation, child abuse. If you are uncomfortable with that, it may be a good time to leave this POV.

* * *

**Wendy: Doll's House**

"Wendy…" I freeze at the tone of his voice and hurriedly look for a way to escape. Too late. He is behind me, one hand groping at the front of my dress. "Please, sir…" I gasp as he pinches me through the fabric of my dress with his huge fingers. He presses himself against me, forcing me against the table I was wiping earlier. The other children are cowering in the playroom down the hall or in the closets. They had fled the dining room when he came in. Luckily for them, he is not interested in carrying out any experiments or tests tonight.

"Tonight, same time… I'll be waiting…" I nod weakly. Satisfied with my answer, he releases his grip on me and slaps me lightly across my bottom. "Good, my little doll," he leers and leaves me. I grab onto the dining table to keep from collapsing completely. _Tonight, not again._ I bite my fist to keep from screaming out. I can't let the others know. I can sense them, those he had forcibly linked to me, their frightened awareness adding to my sense of dread.

He's been doing this to me since I was eight. "All adults do it, my dear little Wendy…" he told me once when he hurt me. "Where else can you go, my little doll?" He is right. This island is everything I know. He was especially attentive to me, teaching me things, letting me help him in the lab in the basement. Even now, I still help him in the lab.

One night, he took me to his bedroom, told me how special I am. Then he hurt me. Even now, it still hurts, but I have stopped crying a long time ago. I have stopped feeling as I help him with his experiments, hurting the other children. If they died from the experiments, I would bury them secretly in the caves.

Even now, I can't say no to him when he orders me to go to him. I can't stop him from putting his groping hands up my skirt or disobey when he orders me to sit in his lap so he could…

"Wendy? Where's everyone?" It is only little Peter, innocent-eyed and bewildered by the sudden absence of his playmates. I hurriedly wipe away my tears.

"They're in the playroom, Peter. Go join them," I manage a smile.

"Okay, Wendy…" The boy hesitates a while before disappearing down the hallway. Could he have sensed my tears? _Impossible._ As the only unaltered child left, he is excluded from our shared awareness.

* * *

The doctor ignores Peter, ever since he turned out to be a failure. I thought he would die like the others but somehow, Peter lived. Like the other children, he is dressed in poor-fitting clothes the doctor has deigned to give them. He has a pinched look to his face as the doctor only allowed him to be fed whatever scarps left from our meals. The others and I always save a small portion of our meals, meagre as they are, for him. I notice his trousers are torn. I will need to mend them sometime.

I force myself to concentrate on the chores, anything to take my mind off what is to come. I liked to play house with my childhood playmates back in the other orphanages before I came here… Dressing up our dolls, holding tea parties… I can't recall how a handful of orphans and I came to his island. Those other orphans who came with me are long dead. Every now and then, the doctor will bring some children here. I don't know where they came from.

Most will die. A handful will live after his experiments, except they will not be the same children as they were when they first arrived.

_Ride a cock horse to Banbury Cross  
__To see a fine lady upon a white horse  
__With rings on her fingers and bells on her toes  
__She will have music wherever she goes… _

I hear Peter's voice. I peer into the bare playroom. He is singing a nursery rhyme I had taught the children as he straddles a broomstick. The others chase him playfully around the room. They played 'London Bridge' and 'Ring-a-Ring-o'Roses'. Their childish innocence always comforts me. I know those children who will not grow up, physically at least… Tom has not grown another inch for the past two years when he should have. Peter will grow up. He will become an adult someday. I clench my fist. I don't want him to lose his innocence and become a nasty adult like the doctor. I wish time would stop.

The grandfather clock chimes the hour cruelly. The children stop their games and prepare for bed. I tuck them in before making my way to the doctor's room.

* * *

He was waiting impatiently when I knock on his door. He does not wait for me to ready myself before shoving me onto his worktable and forcing his hands up my skirt, pinching and groping as I sob helplessly from the pain. He catches my wrists and pins them above my head. "Don't cry. I will be gentle, my doll…" he lied as he tied my wrists before hiking up my skirt and prying my legs apart. As always, he is rough with me, slamming me brutally against the tabletop. _Please, stop!_ I cry mutely. Finally, it is over. 

"You may leave, my little doll." He dismisses me carelessly unties me, having sated his lust. I ache all over. Weak-kneed, I ease myself off the table and onto my feet. Pain shoots through me like knives. I want to be out of here. I want to scrub away all traces of him on me as soon as possible. I limp to the door. I know I am bleeding from the sickening wetness trailing down my thighs. The doctor is smoking in his armchair, leisurely thumbing through a book. He doesn't care even if he kills me. I am just some doll he could easily replace. I step out and shut the door behind me.

Peter. The boy stood in the dark hallway, his eyes luminous pools. I recall that the door was slightly ajar, just a crack, when I pulled on the knob just now. _What has he seen? What has he heard?_

_I can't… I can't…._ I throw my arms around him, almost knocking him over and begin bawling like a lost child.

"Wendy?" He is surprised. Still, he puts his small boy's hands on my shaking arms, trying to comfort me. He feels so warm in my arms. I let my tears go that night.

* * *

**Author's Notes:**

I agree whole-heartedly with Leon on the Neverland case. Isaak did a good deed stringing up the doctor. Do you suppose Peter understood what he saw, if he saw anything?


	28. Peter

Disclaimer: Trinity Blood and its characters do not belong to me. This fanfic consists of monologues by the characters at their most alone. Not in chronological order. May contain spoilers for the anime. Rated for potential dark and mature themes.

This POV may be enjoyed alone or in tandem with Wendy's darker POV.

* * *

**Peter: Tin Soldier**

Wendy and the others will not be returning so soon. There's a busy shipping lane some miles west of our island. They will be watching out for ships they could steal from… No. we weren't pirates, are we? Wendy always says it is the only way we can live in a world full of big bad grownups. Things became better for us since the doctor left some month ago. We had proper clothes to wear, warm blankets, delicious food on the table and the toys! The once-bare playroom is filled with them. I have plenty to amuse myself with while waiting for Wendy.

I can't sleep, even if Wendy said I could. I want to wait for her. She has become a lot happier but she is still worried that someday grownups will come to this island, or the nasty Doctor will return. We will chase away all those bad grownups, wouldn't we? This island is only for us kids. I hate grownups, especially the Doctor. He always tortures us, especially Wendy. He makes her cry. I know. I have watched him call her to his room… Afterwards, she would always cry from whatever he did to her. Wendy's brave. She wouldn't cry unless it was really painful.

A single star hovers in the sky outside the playroom window. If a wishing on a star can make Pinocchio come alive, I'll wish on a star too. I wish that bad doctor will never return here. Then Wendy can be happy and she will not cry again.

I don't really care for the new rocking horse or the other toys much. What I like is Wendy reading to me from the fairy tale book. She lets us sit on her lap to look at the pretty pictures inside. I open a box of tin soldiers and lined them up. I frown at the last one. It was missing a leg, just like the story about the brave toy soldier. _Defective, like me._ The doctor called me that once when he shooed me from the dinner table. I was not to have my meals with the others because I'm a failure. But in the story, the one-legged tin soldier's the bravest one, right, Wendy?

* * *

The castle is so empty without the others. But I can be brave. Like the tin soldier form the story. I will protect my friends. I will protect Wendy. I will never let anyone hurt her again. Even though I am still a kid… _This island is for kids only,_ Wendy declared some days after the doctor left. Someday, I am different from Wendy and the other children. Someday, I will grow up. Wendy told me that when I asked. She seemed sad when she said those words.

I am not as strong or as fast as the others. I must become stronger to protect Wendy. That means having to grow up. But if I grow up, will I turn into a nasty adult and not be able to stay here? If so, I don't want to grow up, ever. I want to stay with Wendy. Maybe if I wish really, really hard, I can become stronger without having to grow up… _Why am I a failure?_

I like Wendy. She was so kind and gentle to me when I got really sick from the doctor's weird experiments. I know the other children also got sick from the strange things he injected into our bodies. Many died. Those who lived became faster and stronger. They can even fly like Wendy.

* * *

I sit on the pretty rocking horse and ride for a while. Next I flip through a storybook about a princess and a frog but the words are too difficult, so I just look at the pictures. I think the princess met a prince later, but I can't be sure… Maybe I can ask Wendy to read me the story. I scribble on a piece of paper with a crayon. Wendy is trying to teach me to read and write. A is for apple, B is for ball… The others learn fast but I am still stuck at 'F is for frog'. I stop by the dining room to help myself to a piece of chocolate brownie left from dinner.

I walk out onto the balcony. The clouds have covered the stars. A strong wind is blowing from the sea. I am worried. The storms here can be frightfully fierce. Wendy is still out there somewhere. The lights go out as a terrifically bright bolt of lightning flashes. Now we are in a pickle. Without the lights from the castle, I don't know if Wendy and the others can find their way back. They always left the lights on before flying out. I rush back to the playroom and feel about in the toy chest.

Aha! I find the large torchlight Wendy gave me. She got it from an old sea-captain last week. It is a very strong torchlight. Grabbing a raincoat, I return to the balcony where raindrops started falling. I flipped the switch. The beam lights up the balcony and seems to slice into the dark clouds above. I stand in the rain waiting.

The rain becomes heavier, the wind stronger. Rain lashes painfully against my face. Thunder cracks and lightning flashes all round me. My arm aches from the weight of the torchlight. The gale howls as if it would tear me off the building where I stand.

* * *

Finally, I hear them over the howling gusts, the faintest sound of beating wings. Carlise lands first, drenched and terrified by the lightning and thunder. Next is a very bedraggled Tom. They are empty-handed tonight. In ones and twos, the others land and rush inside for shelter. The last one is Wendy, as always. "Peter, you're drenched! Everyone, inside!" she gives me a smile before ushering us inside.

"Thank you, Peter... I never know how we could have found our way back without you…" she whispers and kisses me on the forehead before hurrying off to get warm towels, clothes and hot cocoa for us. I had helped Wendy. I feel so happy.

* * *

**Author's Notes:**

I hope I got the puppy love bit pat. Peter is such an innocent and earnest lad, isn't he? Actually, Wendy may be lying just to make Peter feel better, since they had a homing beacon in the castle.

I made lots of references to The Tin Soldier and other fairytales in this POV, since it is that of a fairly innocent child.


	29. Endre

Disclaimer: Trinity Blood and its characters do not belong to me. This fanfic consists of monologues by the characters at their most alone. Not in chronological order. May contain spoilers for the anime. Rated for potential dark and mature themes.

Warning: The following POV has strong references to rape, perversion and gore.

Astaroshe Asran and Endre had a less than amiable past in the anime. He killed her fiancé (or possibly partner) and she's out for his blood (figuratively speaking) over that. He goads her a good deal as well. She hates him with a passion that borders on the fanatical. I suppose he did some other really nasty things to her on top of killing her loved one…

* * *

**Endre: Hunter's Game**

_There is nothing sweeter than the blood of virgins… _I have to disagree with that outdated theory from those ancient vampire novels. I always drink from those girls before and after deflowering them. The after is always sweeter. Must be the fear and pain caused by rape. I never seem to get the same flavour from the whores who willingly share my bed. Virgins are a rarity in Venice, at least those comely and mature enough to arouse my interests.

The Corleones' seventeen-year-old daughter was so enjoyable. I smile at the memory of last night. She was virgin, you know. Killing her parents was easy. They were sitting down to dinner when I called on them. I killed their little girl too. I have no interest in little children. If her older sister had been more sensible, I may have let her live a little longer… Too bad being raped next to the dismembered bodies of her parents and kid sister unhinged her mind. I was obliged to snap her neck before her screams really, really got someone's attention. At carnival time, screaming takes about an hour to get someone curious and I had been there fifty minutes.

Never mind those dead Terrans. I have killed so many. I have lost count long ago. The official figures form the Empire put it at 300 but I am sure I have suppressed those figures a long time ago. I enjoy it tremendously. Having my prey beg, plead for mercy. Hearing their screams of pain and fear and tasting their sweet warm lifeblood…

* * *

I snap out of my reverie as my keen eyes spot a familiar figure in the streets below my office. Astaroshe Asran, looking like a Valkyrie as she stalks the streets. She's a fool if she thinks that street punk get-up can fool me. Already she is in for a taste of Venetian street hospitality, judging by a gang of local thugs shadowing her. Naturally, she will probably rip out their guts and swing them from a lamppost, if she has read the last missive from me. 

"Sir, the lady you sent for is here…" my manservant calls out nervously. With him is the 'lady', a fresh-faced Terran whore from the brothel down the street. She is pretty enough to provide me with a night of entertainment but…

"I want the bitch off premises in five minutes."

"Yes, sir," my servant pulls her roughly out of the office. She starts screeching, unaware how close an escape from death she has had. As the outraged shrieks fade, I turn my thoughts back to Astaroshe, the only Methuselah woman I have known carnally. I admit I am obsessed by her as much as she is by me. I have courted many noblewomen in my younger days, without success. I had some measure of success with Terran serving wenches but they are such bores.

My clumsy attempts at courtship embarrassed my late parents. In time, I just settled for sating my lust on our Terran serving girls by raping them before killing them. When my parents objected and tried to lock me up, I killed them and the other Terran servants at our manor. I moved on to killing the Terrans who lived near my manor before the dim-witted Duke Baybars finally caught on to who was behind the brutal rapes and killings of Terrans in the city. Then I had to quit town real quickly. That was when I met her and her fiancé.

My parents had tried to match me with Astaroshe to forge an alliance with the House of Kiev. Everyone knew Viscount Reniya was old enough to be her father and believed she would be willing to break off the engagement in favour of a younger man. She was in the next room, as protocol dictated. She found my offer highly amusing and started laughing. Obviously, they declined the offer in favour of the betrothal to Reniya. He didn't sound that impressive to me when he begged me to spare his little fiancée. She hadn't turned yet and I could have easily broken her neck if I had a mind to.

It was never my intention to kill her. I wanted to kill him to show her she made a mistake declining my offer of marriage. I hate being refused. Then she started screaming and calling me a murderer. Laughing, I shoved her to the ground, tore open her clothes and deflowered her next to the still-warm body of her fiancé. I later heard from my sources in the empire that the incident left her witless. Court gossip held that my attack was so brutal that it was unlikely she could ever bear a child. All those marriage offers dried up like a puddle in a drought.

* * *

I never thought she will return to haunt me in such a way. It was astounding the way she had recovered and rose through the ranks, though I suspect her uncle may have a hand in her assignment to the Imperial Service. She is so much more alluring to me, compared to back when she's a dizzy noblewoman. There's the added element of danger and excitement. She hates me and I enjoy goading her by sending lurid letters reminding her of her first sexual experience, courtesy of yours truly. She positively went up in flames when she received my first letter back in Monte Carlo. 

She's a dedicated hunter. She has trailed me here to Venice. She would gladly kill me if the chance arose, but I know she's ordered to capture me alive. It's such an interesting game. I recall how she had screamed and fought when I forced myself on her back then. Her smooth skin, narrow waist and heaving bosom… Most of all, I remember the scent of her fear and how she gone limp afterwards, shuddering and sobbing, crushed. I want to break her spirit all over again… I wonder if I have time before killing the Pope to conquer my blond Valkyrie.

The notion appeals to me. I want to break her all over again. Make her cry out in my bed as I claim her under the Venetian moon…

"Sir! There's a young woman and a priest asking…." My manservant enters with a fearful look on his face, for good reason. I hate being disturbed. I am about to kill the insolent twit when I see her reflected in the window glass. Blond, with a streak of red in her hair, glaring at me with pure passionate hatred, a vengeful goddess…

_Let the game begin..._

* * *

**Author's Notes:**

Is it any wonder the mention of Count Endre of Zargeb makes Asta very, very angry? In the anime, Asta's natural hair colour seems to be blond. Although in the manga, she was a natural redhead whose hair turned mostly white after expriencing a traumatic event.

Valkyrie – minor warrior goddesses from Norse mythology whose duty it is to take the souls of the bravest warriors who die in battle to Vahalla (Paradise of Norse myth). Often depicted as armoured and riding winged horses. However, I think Asta will send Endre to hell without a second thought.


	30. Agnes

Disclaimer: Trinity Blood and its characters do not belong to me. This fanfic consists of monologues by the characters at their most alone. Not in chronological order. May contain spoilers for the anime. Rated for potential dark and mature themes.

A reviewer suggested that Hugue and Agnes may be related to each other. Since I have described Hugue's missing sister in Hugue's POV earlier, Agnes will not be her. She'll probably be some other relative. Hugue seems to be very familiar with Amsterdam, so I suppose it was his hometown or he had lived there for a period of time as a child. So here goes…

* * *

**Agnes: Guardian Angel**

"_Where's he? Where's the Father who was with me?"_

"_He's no priest. He's an assassin sent by the Vatican and he will be punished tonight… You are welcome to watch the show tonight, if you wish…" _

The church is empty, the way we had left it, the door ajar. The Count's servants have dropped me off at the doorstep. I stagger inside, stopping to retch into the gutter. Shivering, I latch the door behind me. My head throbs. I brew a cup of tea in hope of steadying my nerves.

A few weeks ago, I was living in the church with my uncle, Father Emile, Sister Mathilde, three junior priests and two lay sisters. Now they were all dead, killed by vampires… My life had changed. I shudder as disjointed images flash through my mind's eye. The bloodstained floor of the church, the mutilated corpses… They ripped open Sister Mathilde like a rag doll and half-decapitated Father Emile, who was so kind to his orphaned niece. My hands are still shaking. I must pour myself a small measure of Father Emile's brandy to fortify my nerves. I know where he kept his flask in the cabinet above his desk.

Father Emile's letters are where he had left them, scattered over his desk. An ink-smudged envelope lay on top of the papers. On it was a single line in my uncle's flowing hand. _To Agnes, on her eighteenth birthday._ Apprehension fills my heart as I pick up the envelope. _Should I open it?_ I had turned sixteen in spring, but…

* * *

"_Emile, how long do you intend to keep it from her? The child deserves to know the truth!" _

_One night two months ago, I was woken up by Sister Mathilde's strident voice. It was unusual for her to raise her voice so I crept out of bed. The others slept in dorms in the other wing. That was one of the reasons why I was spared that night. A light was burning in Father Emile's room. They were arguing inside. Worried, I eavesdropped on them. Old Sister Mathilde was known for her heavy hand. I didn't want a fight to start. _

"_They're her family. You altered the parish records back in Antwerp, didn't you?"_

"_It was too dangerous for her if they knew she lived. My poor sister tossed her from the window into my arms just minutes before the blast. I know there may be others like her out there but…" my uncle sounded distressed. I knew then he was referring to the terrible fire that had orphaned me. _

"_Aunt Mathilde, she was so young when it happened. She can't recall anything. They nearly wiped out the clan here too. Thank God for small mercies… I have nothing against Jacques or his family…"_

_"They were good people. May the Lord's light shine upon them," Sister Mathilde cut him off. "You can't lie forever. Someday, she will have to know she's a de Watt…" The conversation faded into whispers. I had no choice but to return to bed… _

* * *

I glance at the framed photo on Father Emile's desk. It is a black and white photo of my parents at my christening. On the back was written the words, _Jacques, Isabelle and daughter, Agnes, _in a neat script. In the photo, I slept in my father's hands. My father was broad-shouldered with muscular arms. My uncle told me he was a blacksmith. He had pale hair which he wore long and a goatee. He held me awkwardly as he beamed with joy. My mother was tiny compared to my father. She tied up her dark hair in sober plaits. She too beamed radiantly as she held onto my father's arm. 

Father Emile always told me I was named after St. Agnes, the patron saint of girls. Maybe the good saint had protected me that terrible night. Maybe she had protected me before when my parents were killed in that fire. Uncle Emile rarely talked about it. He always told me I was born Agnes van Dyke of Antwerp to a blacksmith father and a seamstress mother… but Sister Mathilde let slip once my mother was a nurse who met my father in a field hospital where he was recovering. I suppose she could have been mistaken.

I put away the envelope and the letters. It all seems so trivial now. Maybe when I turn eighteen, I will open that envelope or maybe not. That experience I had earlier in that strange chair still has me reeling. I decide against the brandy. I recalled other things as well from further back… my mother's screaming, my father's voice roaring his battle cry and flames. I remember falling then looking up into Uncle Emile's face, hiding under his cloak as he prayed under his breath, splashing through the cattails. My uncle's gone. He had protected me, now he's gone.

* * *

I had been frightened that night when Lord Pieter accosted me on my way back from old Mrs Van der Walton's. I know it was dangerous to stay out after dark but the old woman was lonely so I stayed with her until her son returned from his factory shift. I trusted the Good Shepherd to protect me. He did. 

_Angel of God, my guardian dear  
__To whom God's love entrusts me here…_

I thought he was my guardian angel. But he turned out to be a travelling priest. The silent father who rescued me has broad shoulders and pale wavy hair like my father, and most terrible scars on his back. _What was I expecting, wings?_ He is a man of few words and reminds me of a cold marble statue. Yet when he looks at the small garden I have cultivated in the church grounds, his eyes turn gentle and sad as if he were recalling a happier time. I refuse to believe he is an assassin.

They will kill him. Like they killed Uncle Emile, Sister Mathilde and the others… I must do something, anything…_ Father in Heaven, please guide me. _

I know that the nameless priest, _I can't believe I have not asked his name yet,_ is a good fighter. But he is a prisoner at Lord Carel's mercy. It will be useless to plead for him. I feel so helpless. Tears come to my eyes. I fumble in my pocket and found an invite to the exclusive Colosseum Theatre, where he will be executed. I faintly recall the count's leering butler stuffing the invite into my hand as they bundled me out of that lab.

_Holy Mary, Mother of God  
__Pray for us sinners now and at the hour of our deaths  
__Amen_

I know what I must do. It is dark now. The clock chimes seven o'clock. I have half an hour left to get to the Colosseum. I don't know what else I can do. _Pray for some miracle?_ _Lord, Virgin Mother, St Agnes, St Michael and whoever's the patron saint of travelling priests… _Maybe there will be some chance I could save him? The very least I can do is to pray for him, even if I am destined to watch him die…

* * *

**Author's Notes: **

I don't know how big Hugue's clan was but there may be more than the branch Hugue hails from. In this POV, I suggested another branch in the vicinity of Antwerp that met a similar end as Hugue's immediate family. Maybe Hugue suspects the Antwerp branch may have a survivor? Maybe he saw the photo of Agnes' parents and recognized a relation? Do you suppose that is why he heads for Antwerp later, other than to decimate the vampire population there as well? Maybe Agnes and Hugue kinda feel some kinship with each other.

Side fact from Wikipedia: St Agnes of Rome is the patron saint of girls, gardeners, engaged couples, virgins and rape victims. Her feast day is Jan 21 according to the Roman Catholic calendar. Incidentally, the patron saints of soldiers include St Michael the Archangel.

The Colosseum is an amphitheatre in Rome where many early Christians were martyred for their beliefs.


	31. Eris

Disclaimer: Trinity Blood and its characters do not belong to me. This fanfic consists of monologues by the characters at their most alone. Not in chronological order. May contain spoilers for the anime. Rated for potential dark and mature themes.

Someone makes a cameo in this chapter. I am not going to say who. Read on.

* * *

**Eris: Nobody's Child II**

_I'm nobody's child  
Just like the flowers  
I am growing wild  
_

My tummy's growling. I see a kitten scamper off after its mother. I have no mama I can go home to. I have no home to go back to. I have no mama or papa. They are dead. I still get nightmares about what happened. They will be screaming at me. Papa pointed his gun at me. I can remember what happened to start it but I know what happened later. I didn't mean to do it. I touched Papa's hand. Papa shot Mama, then himself with the gun. There was so much blood… I stayed in the house with them until the police came and took me away.

They sent me to a big building with a lot of children. The grownups there asked me a lot of questions about what happened to my Papa and Mama. I really didn't mean to make them die. I don't like the way they asked me so many questions. The other children there were mean. They say I am a witch, that I killed my Papa and Mama. I just wanted to teach them a lesson to get them to shut up. I really didn't mean to hurt them…

Please don't make me hurt you. I really don't wanna to do so.

I don't want this power. Because I have this, I have no Papa or Mama. Because of this I have no home to go back to…

* * *

I am tired. I sit down in the mud and trash around me. If anyone tries to hurt me, I hurt them. After I left that building with its mean children and meaner grownups, I have been walking. I don't know for how long or how far. I am so hungry. 

"Are you lost?" A young man looks down at me. He's tall and has brown hair. My tummy rumbles.

"Hungry?" He holds out a loaf of bread. Should I take it? I am too hungry to refuse. I take the bread from his hand. He quickly snatches his hand back and puts it into his pocket. I see he has both his hands in his coat pockets and he is wearing some kind of uniform. Is he a policeman? I don't care. I can't care. I hungrily gobble up the bread to the last crumb. It is hard and a bit mouldy but it tastes so good to me. He watches me through his hazel eyes.

"Do you want some more?" he asks. I nod my head. He smiles.

"What's your name?" he asks gently.

"Eris."

"Good girl, Eris, come on now… Let's go home." _Home?_ He starts to walk away. I follow. He keeps his hands tucked in his pockets, always walking one step ahead of me. No matter how I try to catch up. If I lag behind, he stops to wait before continuing down the winding alleys. I see lots of stray cats on the way. Big cats, small cats, Black, grey, tabby, white and ginger.

"You like cats, Eris?" He asks when I stop to look at two playing kittens. "Yes," I answer.

"I like them too," he replies. He tosses a small ball of string from his pocket onto the ground and we watch the kittens chase it.

_I'd walk the streets of Heaven  
Where all the blind can see  
And just like all the other kids there'd be a home for me

* * *

_

It is getting dark. We continue until we reach a small door in the alley wall. He knocks and a man answers the door. Then I see them, fangs glinting in the pale light from the street lamps. _Vampire._

I scream and turn to run but someone was holding tightly onto my shoulders.

"Where are you going, Eris?" His voice is not gentle now. It is very fierce and scary. I can't run. The vampire is coming closer. There're more of them coming out. All with scary fangs.

"You have been a very naughty girl, Eris…" I can't understand. He is not holding onto me. His hands are still in his pockets but I can't move at all. I feel something pushing me into the house with the vampires. The brown-haired man follows.

"So this is that child? Such a teeny little thing," a vampire looks straight at me before looking towards Brown Hair. Brown Hair nods. "Ja, she's that brat. You be careful about her, if you know what's good for you."

"Is this some sick Orden joke?"

"Nein," Brown Hair smiles and leans close to me. "One word of advice, little Eris," he whispers in my ear. "Trust no one. You're a little freak and no one will ever love you." I feel the force on me slacken. Quickly, I reach out to grab him and catch his arm before he can pull away. I look into his hazel eyes. _Have you been hurt before? _I feel the tingling sensation as my power entered his body…

He goes terribly pale and screams. I let him go. He stumbles back to the laughter of the vampires. "What's the matter, Terran? Scared of an itty-bitty girl?" Brown Hair cusses worse than that cook at the mean building did. He gets up and walks over to the door.

"Wait!" I screech. "Don't leave me!" Don't, please, don't leave me with these vampires!" He stops and turns.

"I don't want to ever see you again, freak," he yells back before stepping outside. I am alone now. _I didn't mean it, please don't leave…

* * *

_

**Author's Notes: **

Any guesses on identity of Brown Hair? He's such a meanie. Hint: Look at the chapter titles...


	32. Esther II

Disclaimer: Trinity Blood and its characters do not belong to me. This fanfic consists of monologues by the characters at their most alone. Not in chronological order. May contain spoilers for the anime. Rated for potential dark and mature themes.

I have doubled back to do a second Solitude moment for Esther. This is sometime towards the end of the anime series… Spoiler alert.

* * *

**Esther: Wreath of Roses**

_Father in heaven, hallowed be Thy name  
__Thy kingdom come, Thy will be done  
__On Earth as it is in Heaven…_

I paused in mid-prayer. I have been saying the rosary for the third time. Was it really God's will Father Abel is killed? The cathedral is cold, dark and lonely. I hate to leave him here, all alone. Father William and Leon did drop by earlier, but they had to leave on Vatican business. I didn't want them to shut the lid on him. But they went ahead anyway while I cried. Said that they couldn't have him embalmed and decomposition will soon be setting in given the unusual heat in Albion recently. Father Leon warned me that it wouldn't be a pretty sight when that happens.

I have been in a daze since Father Abel was killed. Father William had accompanied me while they moved the two bodies to the morgue. I have to admit I feel a tinge of guilt that I was unable to express any sadness over Dietrich when they moved his corpse out. I was too numbed by what I had witnessed. There was blood splattered all over the computer screens in that room and on the floor. I am not sure whose. Too many people had died that day. The Ghetto was in an uproar, having suffered losses from the Orden's attack.

The Count of Manchester had dealt with the crisis both swiftly and efficiently, ordering his people to tally their dead and identify those killed. In the Ghetto, it was common practice to cremate their dead. I heard from Lady Vanessa that they held a short Mass for their dead, presided over by the Pope and then had their crematoriums working over-time to deal with the number of bodies. As for the bodies of those Auto-Jaggers, they were dealt with in the same way. Only their ashes were dumped into an unmarked lot. They had Dietrich cremated too after the forensics team were done. Vanessa told she flushed Dietrich's ashes down the toilet.

"Good riddance to bad rubbish!" she declared with satisfaction. She had called earlier that evening under heavy guard and laid a wreath of white roses on the coffin. Count Virgil had remained behind, to drop that final bombshell on me. I can't feel anything. I have been an orphan, a Church foundling for too long to believe that I am related to the royal Albionian throne… I know he is standing in the shadowy alcove where the Virgin's statue stands, probably regretting telling me the truth of parentage at such a time.

I can understand his dilemma. Albion is fiercely independent. The Queen, my grandmother, had died without announcing a clear successor, opening the way for her distant relatives from Erin and Germanius to lay claim to the throne. The very existence of the Ghetto hung in the balance. Erin and Ludwig may not be tolerant of the Methuselah presence in Albion.

I am so confused. _Why hadn't the Queen looked for me in all those long years?_ The Count gently explained that it was for my own safety that my father had left me with Bishop Laura Vitez. I wished I had known my grandmother. I have always felt an affinity towards Albion since Mother Laura told me that my father was an Albionian. Yet I am a stranger here, an outsider… what right do I have to be Queen to a people I barely understand? I wish I could ask him.

They did a reasonably good job of making Father Abel presentable. Washed and dressed in one of Father William's spare uniforms, he didn't look dead … He looked like he was simply sleeping. As though if I were to shake him, his eyes would open and he would climb out of that coffin, probably tripping as he does so and beg me for some sweets. Except that under that clean cassock are those bandages covering that gaping hole in his chest.

It seems like an insult to think the sum total of a human being at the end of his life is a pile of dust and bones… _Ashes to ashes, dust to dust… _The soul? _Onwards to the perpetual light or the fires of Hell…_

"_I am sinner, Esther…"_ he always said of himself. _"That is the shape of my sins…"_ he always said of his Crusnik form. _Abel, you moron! I don't care when happened a thousand years ago! I only know you are the kind, klutzy travelling priest with the gentlest heart ever._ The tears come again.

It is true I know nothing of his sins. Only that he has been atoning for them for a very long time. _Haven't he been through enough?

* * *

_

"Your Grace…" The Count lays a comforting hand on my shoulder. I shrug it off. He bows curtly. "My apologizes. I must leave you to attend to business."

I nod. I know he has work to do in rebuilding the Ghetto. I turn and get a glimpse of him as he leaves. The Count seems so sad. The air of sadness about him had struck me at our first meeting. It dawns on me suddenly. He is grieving for someone special to him. Maybe he had recently lost someone irreplaceable to him. Immediately, I regret my harsh dismissal and open my mouth to apologize. The words do not leave my tongue. He is gone. I hear the crunch of gravel and revving of his automobile as he drives away.

I notice then that the dark corner where the Virgin stood was not so dark anymore. A number of white candles burn at the Virgin's feet, bathing the statue in light. _Had he lit them for the Ghetto's dead?_ Father William had explained that the Ghetto's inhabitants were mostly Catholic, despite being Methuselah. I feel a tinge of guilt for being so selfish. He had been praying there.

I walk over to the Madonna. The Virgin looks back at me with forgiveness and understanding eerily depicted by the artisan's skilful hands. _Virgin Mother, pray for us, sinners..._

Taking a deep breath, I resume praying, this time, not only for Father Abel, but for all those who have died needlessly in this incident, including Dietrich. Yes, I will pray for the soul of that false knight who had broken my heart in Istvan. I will pray also for my late Grandmother and my parents whom I never knew; for my foster mother, and my AX colleagues, both living and departed. For the Count of Manchester, the inhabitants of the Ghetto and the citizens of Albion… I will pray for them and for guidance from the Almighty. _Please, Merciful Father, guide me… _

_Thy will be done  
__On Earth as it is in Heaven

* * *

_

**Author's Notes: **

Some more insights into the Walsh siblings. I like Vanessa's bad-girl persona. Flushing someone's ashes down the bowl? I wonder if she were capable of that. I wonder if Esther eventually forgave Dietrich for all he did to her.

Side fact- the rose features prominently in history and culture in many parts of Europe, including Albion (present day England). In fact, it is the country's national flower. The Rose is also symbolic of the Virgin Mary in Church tradition. In the language of flowers, the white rose stands for a number of things: innocence, reverence, friendship, purity, humility and secrecy.


	33. Bridget

Disclaimer: Trinity Blood and its characters do not belong to me. This fanfic consists of monologues by the characters at their most alone. Not in chronological order. May contain spoilers for the anime. Rated for potential dark and mature themes.

This is a pre-anime POV. About 15 years before the start of the anime. We see very little of Queen Bridget in the anime. This is my attempt to write a little insight into her decision not to reveal Esther's existence, even though she was probably aware of it and the pain that decision may have caused her. Please note that I have only viewed the anime.

* * *

**Bridget: Throne of Thorns**

The news came suddenly while I was at a charity ball for the St Luke's Children's Hospital. "There has been an… accident. Prince Gilbert and Princess Bianca are dead…" Captain Henry Spencer of the Guard whispers as he gently took my arm and steered me away from the crowds of eager guests and reporters I have been greeting. I kept my smile frozen until I am safely away from the cameras, the proverbial Albionian stiff upper lip. One does not go to pieces in public. I had noted the hesitation when he announced the accident. I knew it was worse.

I had been expecting my only son and his wife to return from the Continent that day. Instead my world crashed to the ground. My Gilbert smiles at me out of a photo taken when he was still a schoolboy. I clasp the photo to my bosom and sob softly. I have weathered so many storms during my reign but never one as devastating. I have sent my servants away from my chambers so I can mourn freely. Only my personal maid, Martha, stood guard outside the door to protect my privacy.

The postcards he sent to me during his honeymoon were scattered on my dresser. Despite the protests of Westminster, he had married the Hungarian commoner Bianca whom he had fallen in love with while studying at the Albion University. I have met Bianca and I liked her instantly. She was a young lady with a heart of gold. A little frail in her health and no title but otherwise, I have no reason to oppose Gilbert's decision. I could not bring myself to stop him despite royal protocol. They were wed in a simple ceremony held in Paris due to the protests from various fractions. Then they embarked on their tour of the Continent to allow things to settle down back home.

They made an extended stop in Hungaria after their honeymoon, staying almost a year. Things in Albion had cooled down by then. I understood from Gilbert's letters that Bianca had taken ill and they would return as soon as she was fit enough for travel. I was worried for his safety on the Continent since he had refused bodyguards on his honeymoon. _"Mother, it's our honeymoon! How can we enjoy it if we got a bodyguard squad watching us? Don't fret. We'll be travelling incognito. We have done that before with Father when I was a kid, haven't we, Mother? Up to Scotland for the fishing?"_ I can almost hear his voice, his laughter. He was aware of the risks he was taking, but took them responsibly. Ironically, it was on Albionian soil that my son and daughter-in-law lost their lives.

"It would appear the Princess was the target," Henry reported. "If only His Highness hadn't returned to the car…" he left it hanging. Their rented car exploded in front of the Dover train station, killing them both and several innocent bystanders. Eyewitnesses said that my son had disembarked and was buying their tickets for London when Bianca suddenly took ill. Gilbert must have rushed back to the car to attend to her… then all Hell broke loose. Investigation is underway. A vampire terrorist organization is suspect. Virgil had some problems with dissidents in the Ghetto recently.

Captain Henry insisted he carried out the identification as the bodies were in bad shape. He refused to let me see my son. He was white-faced when he returned from the morgue. He needed his young niece, I believe her name's Mary, at his arm to support him.

I wanted it to be a mistake. I wanted it to be a nightmare I will awake from and greet my son and daughter-in-law. We'll go boating on the Thames and eat muffins incognito at Trafalgar's…

Their funeral will be held tomorrow.

Gilbert is dead. He looks out blindly from the numerous photos and portraits in my room. Here he stares out with my late husband, holding the first trout he caught. There he smiles with his new bride on his arm… It hurts… I know I should have covered the photos with cloth according to custom, but I can't bring myself to cover up those precious memories. They're all I have left of Gilbert.

Martha knocks on the door. "Your Majesty, Captain Spencer, on the phone." Thanking her, I take the phone from Martha and dismiss her. _If Henry saw the need to call me on my personal line…_

"Your Majesty… Gil, I mean, His Highness left a message on me answering machine…" Henry whispered excitedly. "It's 'bout…"

My heart leaps to my mouth as I hear him out. _Thank God… thank God_… I am seized momentarily with the urge to run over to Hungaria and… _What will the little one be like? Will she have her father's red hair?_ Then common sense sinks in.

"Henry, does anyone else know of this? Good. Let's keep it that way." I listen as Henry swears a solemn oath not to reveal Gilbert's secret, now the secret of the Albion royal linage. I know Henry can be trusted to keep his promise. He will hold his silence to the grave if need be. After all, he had been Gilbert's personal bodyguard when the prince was a child. Gilbert had chosen to leave his poor infant daughter in the protection of the Church for good reason. I close my eyes and painfully force away thoughts of little red-haired babies. I will not hold the little one. I will not speak of this… not even to my closest friend.

* * *

"Your Majesty…" Virgil. Soft-footed as always, he enters unannounced. He holds out his arms as if to embrace and comfort me, but catches himself. I blink away tears. He offers me a clean white handkerchief. Thanking him, I dab away my tears. They keep coming. He looks stoically at the van Gogh painting above the fireplace while I let my tears loose.

The past few days have been hard on my childhood friend. As always, suspicion fell on his people. There have been sabotages and thefts of technology in the Ghetto factories and Virgil's people are hard pressed enough as it is. To add to poor Virgil's troubles, his sister has been sneaking out of the Ghetto for the Londonium night life. I need not burden him further with my troubles.

"Your Majesty, is something bothering you? I promise that I will assist with the investigation whatever way I can…" he approaches awkwardly and places a comforting hand on my shoulder. I pat his hand fondly. I realize how wrinkled my hand is compared to his. He is still youthful in his looks due to his Methuselah bloodline. Still, he has aged in other ways. He rarely smiles now. The laughing young boy I used to explore the Ghetto in my childhood is a pale shadow of his former self. Such is the burden of aristocratic birth.

I know then my decision is right. God in Heaven, please protect Gil's little girl. _Let her grow up healthy and carefree in your Church…

* * *

_

**Author's Notes:**

A little insight into Esther's family. I threw in a bit of the platonic Virgil-Bridget friendship thing. Maybe I do a fanfic series titled _Letters from the Ghetto_ or _Ghetto Diaries_ detailing the whole thing between Virgil, his sister and Queen Bridget. What do you think?


	34. Mary

Disclaimer: Trinity Blood and its characters do not belong to me. This fanfic consists of monologues by the characters at their most alone. Not in chronological order. May contain spoilers for the anime. Rated for potential dark and mature themes.

Please note that I have only viewed the anime, so this is mainly my take on things.

* * *

**Mary: Bloody Mary and Malt Whiskey**

Night already? I throw on my coat…

"Captain Spencer, you shouldn't be about in your state…"

"Oh, shut up!" _We're so screwed…_ I step outside the hospital and found a pub. "One Bloody Mary."

* * *

Okay, one thing I wish to make clear. I hate vampires. Oops… I mean Methuselahs. Blame it on a little scuffle with the Count of Manchester's bloody kid sister in a local pub. It put me in hospital for two months and I missed my graduation from military school. It was her fault! She's not allowed up here where Terrans live. The Count should keep a closer watch on her. I don't know who formed this goddamned alliance with the Methuselah. They provide the technology and we let them live, providing them with blood from the blood banks.

King Harold IIV had the right idea confining them to the Ghetto eight centuries ago. Yet now there are those who flagrantly ignore this rule. Under Queen Bridget, Methuselahs were given more freedom than ever before. A special section of the Albion University was set up for Methuselah scholars to attend. I know this is not openly known and the students and lecturers are sworn to utmost secrecy. But wasn't there a scandal when I was a fresh cadet, some lab accident that was eventually traced to a vampire student? The university branch then relocated to the Ghetto, where it should have been in the first place.

The Queen let the Walsh siblings, both vampires, attend royal functions. She even went so far as to have the palace windows fitted with UV-filtered glass to allow the vampire nobles ready access to her, even during the day. I can't understand her.

The Spencer family has served the royal house for centuries. Uncle Henry was captain of the palace guard, right until the day he was killed by a parcel bomb meant for the Queen. The Count and his sister, who were in the same room as my uncle, survived the blast without a scratch. Of course, the Count was suitably outraged by the audacious attempt on his Queen. They eventually flushed a group of dissidents out of the Ghetto. You see? Nothing good could come from associating with vampires. They are trouble-makers, forever trying to spread anarchy and unrest…

Naturally, with the likes of the Walshes… Vanessa's a loose cannon. I am not surprised she would be the ringleader of this kidnap. This time, I suppose there is enough to make the charges stick and if Virgil tries to plead for her…

* * *

I take another gulp of my drink. The doctors would probably advise against it but I'm past caring… Besides, the painkillers were wearing off…

Thank God we found the Pope unharmed. We have yet to get all those Inquisitors out of Londinium after Rome sent an army after their Pope…

What a day, Pope gets kidnapped from under my nose. Then weird guy attacks Buckingham on my watch… Tch, I am not sure he is human. He could be a vampire with his freakish abilities… but he attacked in daylight. Aren't vampires allergic to daylight? Virgil got burned once when he accidentally walked past an open window on his way to an audience with Queen Bridget…

Virgil, Count of Manchester and the Queen's confidante. It is scandalous the way he calls on her all hours. And the guard gossip had it some of those meetings took place in the royal bedroom. I would expect the Queen to get a bit lonely since her consort died so long ago… but surely a human would be a better choice for a discrete dalliance.

"We know each other from way back, Spencer. Rest assured that what we do is perfectly honourable…" the count replied enigmatically when I confronted him once.

Whatever their relationship was, it ended the day the Queen died without naming an heir. Great, we have Duke Ludwig and Duke Erin to choose from… Both buffoons as far as I'm concerned. Let Westminster work that one out.

"Ludwig and Erin?" Virgil gave a smug little smile when I broached the topic of succession as the Queen's funeral was being prepared for. "Both will never sit on the Albion throne," he declared flatly before rushing off to send a telegram (the nerve of him) to Rome without clearance from the Parliament. Why had he invited the Pope and specifically asked for a certain nun?

* * *

Okay, Mary girl, go easy on those Bloody Marys. My head is starting to throb.

The old Queen must have told Virgil something. No wonder he has been going about with that secretive look on his face. _Think, Mary, Think!_ Could she have told him the identity of her heir? Who is the heir? The count has been acting a little strange around the Papal envoy during the tour of the Ghetto's factories… Was the Pope the heir? Had the Queen decided on her deathbed to turn over her country to the Vatican?

No… Even Virgil isn't that keen on having the Inquisition running Albion. He hadn't spoken to the Pope, only to his attendant… That nondescript sister… I accidentally knock over the glass.

"I thought getting my sister out of the pubs was bad enough…" Virgil? The count stands there beside me, pale and drawn. _He shouldn't be here…_ I stumble as I try to stand. He catches me. "Bartender, a coffee for the lady and a glass of water for me." He takes the bar stool next to mine. _The nerve…_

"Who's the heir, Count? She must have told you, you pompous jackass!" I hiss. The bartender returns with the water and coffee. He quietly mixes his blood capsules into his water before gulping it down.

"Sorry, Spencer, I'm afraid Bridie's, I mean, Her Majesty's trust was misplaced this time…" The disappointment is heavy in his voice. "Bartender, a double malt whiskey please…" The bartender pours out his whiskey without batting an eyelid.

"What do you mean? There is an heir, isn't there?" He nods slowly and quaffs his whiskey.

"Yes. However, she's unable to lead Albion…"

That's it. Albion is screwed. Both human and vampire alike. Maybe the Vatican will take over the show… Maybe the two Dukes will get tired of waiting for Westminster to reach a decision and invade… Maybe… Maybe…

A blast shakes the pub. We're under attack! It has started.

* * *

**Author's Notes: **

This is timed somewhere between the Ghetto attack and the attack on Londinium. Mary Spencer's in a foul mood in this POV, considering Cain demolished the palace on her watch.


	35. Baybars

Disclaimer: Trinity Blood and its characters do not belong to me. This fanfic consists of monologues by the characters at their most alone. Not in chronological order. May contain spoilers for the anime. Rated for potential dark and mature themes.

Please note that I have only viewed the anime, so this is mainly my take on things. How much does Baybars know exactly about the Empress and the Head of the Secret Service?

* * *

**Baybars: Yeniceri Captain**

"Take him into custody and present him before me…" Her voice was calm and imperious. You want a translation? "_If my precious grandson so much as gets a scratch, your head will roll." _I know Mirka is still unsettled by the earlier intrusion into the palace. However, our Empress seemed to have expected the visitor. It took me a while to get used to calling her Empress back then given her girlish appearance. Appearances are deceiving. She has a good 900 years of being Empress to back her up. Nine centuries of keeping the peace in the Empire. It is no wonder this plot had come to her attention.

Only a select few of us in the inner circle are aware of her true appearance. The duchess of Moldova, who acts as her body double in public, me, the captain of her elite Yeniceri unit, and well… I guess that covers all of us. Only those who have proven their loyalty to her were allowed in on this secret. Even then, she may choose not to reveal her identity. Just as in the case of her Deputy Head of the Secret Service, the Duke of Tigris.

Suleyman used to be a decent chap, loyal to our Mother, but I suppose people change. Had she detected something in him back then that caused her to hold back from letting him in the secret? I am a poor judge of that, since I was trained in the military section of the Academy rather than the diplomatic section where Mirka and Suleyman hailed from. Also, they were at least 50 years my seniors. Mirka may be more attuned to her colleague's character, but they have grown distant recently.

My family has always been in the Yeniceri. Military life is simple, so I was told. You obey your orders, carry out your duties. No questions asked.

When I graduated, they never told me I'd have to dance to the tune of the likes of Mirka and our Mother. _How can you protect someone who insists on running about town posing as a tea-seller and insisting on having no guards in the vicinity?_ Mirka acts the part of Empress to a tee whenever the need arises. Her orders are often far from simple, a slight change in the tone of her voice, a tapping of a finger on the armrest… I am expected to read her subtle hints. I have often mis-interpreted her intentions and find myself led on a merry dance down the garden path.

And yes, my friend, Mirka Fortuna is not someone you would cross. Have you ever encountered her in a rage? I had the misfortunate to experience one when I misunderstood Mirka's 'imperial command' and killed her Persian cat. I spent two months holed up in a certain little-used tower of the palace before she cooled down. Our Mother is more forgiving. In fact, she told me frankly that she found my earnest but often misguided attempts to obey Mirka's 'orders' amusing. After so many decades, I supposed I have gotten used to their ways.

* * *

My men are stoically enduring the bites of mosquitoes in the bushes outside the Moldova mansion. Not yet. I bid my time. We cannot make our move too soon. We are to wait for the given signal from Mirka's double inside. Ion Fortuna is totally ignorant of the part he is playing in this counter-plot. If startled, there was no telling how he may react. He may flee into more danger or try to challenge my men and get killed.

An explosion shatters the calm. It came from the mansion. Something had gone horribly wrong.

"Now!" I give the order. Rushing to the scene, we find the building going up in flaming inferno and standing a tad dazed, the count and two Terrans, one of whom I had seen earlier in the palace. Mirka's body double was not present. She was most likely killed by the blast or the fireball that followed. We hadn't expected a bomb to be involved. It was a near miracle how the trio escaped death or injury. Immediately, my men surrounded them.

"Count of Memphis, by the Empress' order, I am taking you into custody for treason and the death of the Duchess…" I shouted. "Come with us peacefully…" _By the Empress' order, do not try to escape. Do not fight. Do not challenge me in front of my men. _

My worst fears were confirmed when the young count turns to face me, his face a mask of outrage and grief. "You're accusing _me_ of murdering my own grandmother?" I hear that razor-edge of anger in his voice.

"You have failed to report to the Empress on your return. That alone is sufficient evidence for treason!" I watch him carefully as I speak, hoping he would recollect his senses and surrender without a fight. The Terrans were bewildered and frightened by the sudden appearance of my men. The young girl tried to protest their innocence.

It was not working. The little moron actually drew his sword. _Great, there goes peaceful arrest._ He's too inexperienced to take me on. Heck, I doubt he could even take on any one of my fresh cadets.

Still, he has challenged me in front my men by his actions. I have no choice but to accept the challenge. Mirka will probably kill me if I hurt him too badly…

There is no contest. The flimsy sword he carried was mostly decorative. It shatters under mine. "You have to wait another hundred years before you can take me on," I growl. His stance was wrong, the manner he held his blade wrong… everything he did was wrong! What do they teach young ones these days in the Academy? During our time, you don't graduate unless you passed intermediate combat. Obviously, standards must have slipped when the last headmaster died.

"Now, prepare to die gracefully…" He is too stunned by his defeat to register my words or me raising my sword. I have no intention of killing him. At the last instant, I will smack him with the flat edge of my sword and render him unconscious. My men will take in the Terrans with no…

There is sudden flash of movement from taller Terran. "Close your eyes!"

A blinding flash and a loud bang follow. My men and I are stunned. When we regain our senses, the prisoners have fled. I catch a glimpse of the tall Terran running, his long ponytail flapping behind him like a white banner. The girl trots at his side. Ion is tucked under the taller Terran's arm. Obviously, his fellows do not trust he has regained his senses yet from his near-suicidal challenge. I have not touched him at all during the duel.

"Sir, shall we go after them?" one of my men asks. He glances around, blinking, as did his fellow yeniceri. I realize then that only I have had the good fortune of actually shielding my eyes from most of the blinding effects of that flash-bang grenade. Only I had witnessed their escape.

"No, we will return to the palace immediately to protect the Empress. We have no time to trip about back gardens!" I bark the command to return. Mirka probably has a back-up plan to fall back on.

_Young man, we shall see how this merry dance turns out…

* * *

_

**Author's Notes: **

In the anime, Baybars' cryptic remark after he fails to arrest Ion also seems to suggest the whole business of the arrest may be an act. In the manga, Mirka (as Empress) does not wear a veil around Baybars when they are alone, which suggest he may be in on the charade (or maybe he really believes she's the Empress). In the manga, she also uses her pet kitty to stop Baybars from attacking Abel when Abel calls on the palace seeking his sister. Poor kitty.

There are differences in the appearance of Mirka and Seth in the manga and anime. The manga version of Mirka appears a lot younger than her anime counterpart. Manga version Seth is slightly older than her cutsie anime version and a lot more annoying to Ion too. Think making Ion do her groceries.


End file.
